


better luck next time

by nauticalwarrior



Series: blnt 'verse [1]
Category: better luck next time - Fandom, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Midoriya Izuku, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Injury, Midoriya Izuku Does Not Have One for All Quirk, Midoriya Izuku Has a Quirk, Parental Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Parental Yagi Toshinori | All Might, Rated For Violence, Self-Harm, Suicidal Midoriya Izuku, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, TRIGGER WARNINGS IN END NOTES, Time Loop, Time Travel, Torture, Unreliable Narrator, Vigilante Midoriya Izuku, Whump, does not contain sexual content, excessive gore, more than canon typical violence, no romantic relationships with izuku, so much gore tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:22:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 69
Words: 361,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28394571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nauticalwarrior/pseuds/nauticalwarrior
Summary: As he falls, he lets himself think about it. He lets himself think that if he wakes up, if things go back again, it means that he does have a quirk. It means he really can take a swan dive off a roof and hope for better luck in his next life. It means that all along, he’s been useless and worthless because he hasn’t died yet.He hits the ground.And then he opens his eyes.(vigilante!izuku AU where izuku has a quirk that rewinds time when he dies)(updates DAILY)
Relationships: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead & Midoriya Izuku, Bakugou Katsuki & Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Inko & Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku & Monoma Neito, Midoriya Izuku & Todoroki Shouto
Series: blnt 'verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136582
Comments: 3202
Kudos: 3738
Collections: Amazing Reads and Inspiration, BNHA BEST CHAPTER FICS TO EVER GRACE THE INTERNET, BNHA Canon Rewrites/Rehashes- with a twist!, Best of Hurt/Comfort, Creative Chaos Discord Recs, Dad Vibes, Loaf's Grains, Vigilante Izuku because why the hell not, better luck next time and related works, gh0st's favorites, ⭐ Little Red's BNHA Library ⭐





	1. beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! im really excited to publish this! i actually wrote all of this chapter and another chapter in one day, so there should be an update soon. im going to update tags and warnings as things go along, but PLEASE keep in mind that this fic will contain multiple graphic descriptions of suicide. even though izuku doesn't die permanently, he definitely still kills himself.
> 
> chapter-specific content warnings will be in end notes for each chapter! i will not be warning for suicide or canon typical violence in the end notes, even if it occurs in that chapter.
> 
> this fic was inspired by a lot of things, especially viridian: green guide, and re:zero! i hope you enjoy!

Kacchan’s hand on his shoulder is smoldering hot, popping and crackling with little explosions that burn even through his middle school uniform. Izuku leans back, but Kacchan leans forward, his breath minty and his eyes narrowed in anger, his grip tightening painfully on Izuku’s shoulder. 

“In other words, don’t you  _ dare _ get into UA, nerd!” Kacchan growls, his words punctuated by a series of pops from his hand, and Izuku can't stop himself from breaking eye contact, his whole body shaking with stupid, stupid fear. He’s still frozen there, in the almost empty classroom, while Kacchan and his friends start to stalk out of the room, their shoes clicking on the linoleum tiles. 

“Oh, and Deku?” Kacchan says. “You want to be a hero? I’ve got an idea for you.” His voice is mocking, light. Izuku doesn’t turn to look at him. 

“Take a swan dive from the roof and pray you get a quirk in the next life!” He sneers, and  _ that _ makes Izuku turn, makes his head whips around, eyes hot with tears. He tries to say something, anything, but something hot and ugly is bubbling up in his chest and he can’t say anything at all. 

Kacchan narrows his eyes, raises a hand and lets off a small explosion. “Yeah, what?” He says, crackling smoke and light in his hand, before he turns and follows his buddies out of the classroom. Izuku can hear them whooping and laughing in the hallway. He thinks he hears someone tell Kacchan that that was  _ funny _ .

Funny. Izuku bites his lip, clenches and unclenches his fists.  _ Idiot. If I jump, you’ll be blamed for bullying me into suicide _ , he thinks.  _ If I jump.  _

Izuku walks slowly through the empty halls of Aldera Junior High. His shoulder hurts where Kacchan burned it. His head hurts from his clogged sinuses, his nose and throat irritated from holding back tears. He walks out the front doors, turns to the little pond under the window, with the koi fish nipping at the edges of his precious notebook. 

“That’s not fish food,” he mutters, his eyes filling with tears anew. He feel slike he’s going to be sick as he pulls his 13th analysis notebook out of the water, the ash sliding off and the water smearing the ink on the page. He tries to dry it off some with the edge of his sleeve, but the shiny fabric doesn’t want to absorb the water. It smells like a camping trip, like old burnt-out flames and the green, swampy smell of a river or a lake. Izuku clutches the notebook to his chest, lets himself sob quietly as he walks away from the school.

The familiar sights are blurring together, probably since he’s upset. Maybe that’s why he misses the villain, doesn’t see it coming. He certainly feels it though, green slime wrapping itself around his throat in a chokingly tight hold. The sludge grips him, and the villain laughs. 

“Just calm down,” he sneers, “It’ll only hurt for about 45 seconds, and it’ll all be over.” His voice reminds Izuku of Kacchan, for the briefest moment. He starts to fight back, then relaxes. The villain is fluid. He wouldn’t be able to do anything anyway.

He lets himself go limp, lets the villain force its way down his throat. It feels like choking, like swallowing something down the wrong pipe but  _ worse _ , like his lungs are going to split open. The villain smells vaguely like the koi pond, sludgey and swampy and green. Izuku’s vision is starting to go black when he wonders which hero is on duty today. Would they find him in time?

He finds it hard to care as his vision cuts out completely, the sensation of choking replaced with a dull pain in his chest.  _ It’s not a swan dive off a roof, Kacchan, but maybe I’ll get a quirk in the next life anyway, _ he thinks as his consciousness slips away. 

\--

Izuku opens his eyes, gasps for air. He reaches for his throat desperately, feeling nothing but clean skin. He’s not outside in that tunnel, not surrounded by the fading afternoon light and green slime. He’s in the classroom, and Kacchan has a hand on his shoulder. Izuku coughs, rubbing at his throat.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Kacchan asks, then shoves him aside. “Whatever. I don’t want to catch whatever he has.” He says, taking a step away from Izuku and sulking after his friends. Izuku watches his back move, watches him pause in the doorway and turn his head back, a sneer on his lips. 

“I meant it about UA,  _ Deku _ . If you show up there, I’ll kill you myself.” Kacchan spits, the fluid landing on the floor in front of him. Izuku keeps a hand on his throat, panting as Kacchan shrugs and leaves the classroom, slamming the door behind him hard enough to rattle the desks closest to it. Izuku stares.

_ I died. _ He blinks, looks down at his hands. They don’t look any different. He doesn’t feel any different. His chest doesn’t hurt, doesn’t burn. His uniform is clean and dry. His notebook is gone, probably in the koi pond where he’d found it before.  _ Unless that was a daydream? _

Izuku’s never been the daydreaming type before, not like that anyway. He shoves his shaking hands in his pockets and listens for the sounds of conversation, but Kacchan and his buddies seem to have already left. He sighs in relief, then makes his way over to the door and opens it. He walks down the hallway, just like before. Walks to the koi pond. His notebook is there, floating as the fish investigate.

“No,” he whispers, pulling it out and shaking it off, not bothering to wipe it off this time. “Not for you guys.” The fish don’t reply, but they do swim away from where the notebook was, drifting idly in the little pond. Izuku stares at his reflection in the water, stained grey from the concrete below. He looks tired. Scared. Nothing abnormal.

He doesn’t know what just happened. He tucks his notebook under one arm and starts walking away from the school, taking a different route than before. Did he really die? The afternoon looks the same as before, warm golden light spilling across the ground from the sun, shadows angled and low. He walks along a brick wall for a bit, his shoes scraping on the concrete sidewalk, before he pauses. Is he under the effects of someone’s quirk? 

He takes a breath, pauses. He doesn’t have a dry notebook to write in right now, but he can think like he would when he’s writing. What does he know?

He knows he left school already once today. He knows he was attacked by a villain in the tunnel on the way home. He knows he didn’t fight back, and as a result, he died. He knows he didn’t  _ actually _ die. He knows Kacchan reacted to him acting strangely. What doesn’t he know?

He doesn’t know if any of this is actually what happened. He doesn’t know if he’s under the effects of a quirk, or if he is, whose quirk that would be. He doesn’t know if fighting back against the villain would make any difference. 

Izuku does know one thing. If he wants to know if that was real, if that villain was actually there at the end of the tunnel, he’s only got one way to find out. He turns on his heels and walks in the direction of the tunnel. His survival instincts scream at him not to; he’s already died once! But Izuku doesn’t want to leave this unsolved. After all, he’d already “died” once, if this is actually happening. Some small part of him doesn’t mind. He wonders if he’d be missed, but then he shakes his head. Of course, his mom would be devastated. He marches onward, turning on a familiar side street. He’ll approach from the end of the tunnel the villain had been waiting in last time. Or at least he thinks. He wishes he’d been paying more attention last time, but...

He remembers Kacchan’s words. (If he actually said them. Who’s to say this isn’t all Izuku’s overactive imagination?). He remembers being told to  _ take a swan dive off the roof _ . He remembers the sneer on Kacchan’s face, the amusement of his friends. Izuku hopes that wasn’t real, but something ugly in him twists and whispers that  _ Kacchan would say that to someone like you _ . 

He sees the tunnel entrance, and it looks a little odd to be facing this direction in the afternoon. Normally when he goes through it from this side, it’s morning, with the sun behind him and not crowning the top of the bridge above in an orange-yellow halo. He squints against the light. Hopefully, the villain didn’t leave in the time it took Izuku to make this decision. He’s not sure what he’d do if he couldn’t confirm or deny that he’d died and, well. Come back? He’s not sure what to call it, to be honest.

Izuku sees the villain before it sees him this time. It’s a mass of sludge already, meaning it likely didn’t have a human form except for those eyes and that mouth. He gasps a little when he sees it slide out of the tunnel, and he covers his mouth too late, the villain’s eyes swivelling to focus on him. The villain’s mouth contorts into a wide, ugly grin, and Izuku hears a familiar voice. 

“Perfect! A medium sized body to hide in...” The villain rushes forward at him at that point, and even though Izuku braces himself, the impact still hurts. He covers his mouth and nose with his hands, writhing as the sludge wraps around him, squeezing. It’s oddly dry for a sludge quirk, not sticking to his clothes so much as enveloping him. Izuku takes a deep breath of air before the sludge wraps around his hands where they guard his mouth and nose, and his hands ache from strain as the sludge tries to push itself between his fingers. 

“Smart fucking kid,” the villain growls. “Stop resisting. It’s only gonna hurt more if you make me wait,” he says, and Izuku thrashes harder at that, remembering the horrible choking sensation. Holding his breath like this is better, so much better. 

Even so, he can feel his limbs starting to grow weak. He can’t pull his head out of the grip, even when he tosses his head back hard enough to make his neck ache. He thinks, hysterically, that he’s going to die again. He can feel his eyes fill with painful ears, his chest burning from the lack of oxygen. His head starts to fill with fuzziness, and he realizes that the villain was right. It did hurt more to resist.

Just as Izuku feels his limbs go limp, he hears a familiar voice. “Fear not, kid! For I am here!” All Might’s voice rings out, and the hero punches the sludge villain hard enough that Izuku can feel the force as the villain is knocked off of him. He keeps his hands over his mouth and nose, gasping desperately for breath. He watches two tears hit the sidewalk below, turning it dark in two little circles, before he hits the ground. He tries to get up, but he’s shaking too hard, dizzy and weak. He recognizes that he’s lying on his side, limp, but he’s not totally unconscious. Is he going to die anyway?

“Hey, hey,” All might says, voice quieter, and he taps on the side of Izuku’s face. “Hey, kid!” He says, a little louder, and it seems to be enough to wake Izuku’s body up, and he opens his eyes the rest of the way. 

“Oh, thank goodness!” All Might says with a grin, standing up. Izuku pushes himself up onto his elbows, staring up at the hero. “You’re okay! Excellent!”

“Wha--”

“I’m sorry for getting you caught up in my villain hunt!” All Might cuts him off, putting both hands on his hips. “But my success here is all due to you!” He says, grinning and holding up a bottle of familiar green sludge. “I’ve contained the villain!”

Izuku blinks, then feels his face split in a grin as he hops to his feet. “Wow! O-Oh,” he reaches for the half-destroyed notebook where it fell on the ground. “C-Can I-I get...?” he trails off, staring at the autograph already on the notebook. 

“Thank you!!” He shouts, bowing to All Might. He straightens up to see the hero walking away from him.

“Now, I must get this to the authorities,” All Might says, not even looking back at Izuku. He crouches down in what Izuku knows is his stance when he’s preparing for a jump, and Izuku’s legs move without him telling them too. He sprints at All Might, wrapping his arms around the hero’s leg just in time as the hero shoots through the air. Izuku has to close his eyes against the rush of wind.

“H-Hey!” He hears All Might’s voice, muffled by the wind. “I appreciate the enthusiasm, but this is too much!” He kicks his leg a little. “Get down!”

“I-If I let go now, I-I’ll die!” Izuku shouts as a reply, his voice warped from the way the wind makes his lips and cheeks flap around. 

“Right,” All Might says, and Izuku sees him grimace. “Well hold on, and shut your eyes and mouth!”

Izuku complies, and he abruptly realizes that he’s  _ holding on to All Might’s leg! _ He feels a rush of adrenaline push through him as they land on what looks like a rooftop. He opens his eyes and releases All Might, looking up to see his idol leaning on the railing of the roof, facing away from him.

“U-Um, I h-have something I n-need to ask you....” Izuku says, and All Might glances back at him.

“I don’t have time!” All Might says, crouching slightly, like he’s going to jump again. 

“Can s-someone-- Can someone become a h-hero, even without a quirk?” Iziuku gasps it out, taking a step towards his hero and squeezing his eyes shut, not willing to see the look on All Might’s face. He just-- he needs to hear this. He needs someone to tell him he can be a hero. 

He starts to mutter about why he wants to be a hero, about All Might, saving people with a smile. He opens his eyes, and All Might is gone.

“A-An imposter?!” He shouts, taking a step back. “You’re an imposter?!” He asks the skeletal form, and its dark eyes track to his face, grimacing at him. 

“No,” he replies, and Izuku takes another step back. “I am All Might.”

“Y-You’re all shriveled up...” he replies, his voice barely a mumble, and he sees blood at All Might’s mouth. 

“You know how guys at the pool are always sucking in and flexing and try to hold their buff? I'm like that.” All Might says, and Izuku gapes. 

“No way...” he replies, staring at the skeletal person in front of him. He  _ does _ resemble All Might, but in the same way that chopsticks resemble telephone poles. 

“I'm counting on you to keep your mouth shut. Don't go talking about this online or telling your friends,” All Might says, and he turns his head away from Izuku and lifts his shirt up with one hand. 

The scar he reveals is horrible, like he was grabbed at the chest and  _ twisted _ . It’s red and angry, with the veins visible under the thin skin, but the worst part is how sunken in it is. Izuku covers his mouth with a hand to stop himself from gasping at it, and All Might lets his shirt flutter back down with a sigh. 

“Pretty gross, right? I got this from a big fight five years back. My respiratory system was basically destroyed. I lost my whole stomach. All the surgeries have pretty much worn me out and it can't be fixed. Right now, I can only do hero work for about 3 hours a day. The rest of the time, this is what I look like.” He turns away from Izuku again. 

“Five years ago?” Izuku mumbles. “D-Does that mean the fight with Toxic Chainsaw...?”

All Might glances back at him and chuckles. “No, no. You know your stuff, but Toxic Chainsaw isn’t strong enough to do something like this. The fight with... with this person, it was never publicized. I did everything I could to keep it under wraps. I'm supposed to be the guy who always smiles, right? I'm the symbol of peace, people everywhere have to think that I'm never afraid. But honestly, I smile to hide the fear inside.” He cracks a painful-looking smile. “It's just a brave face I put on when the pressure is high. This job isn't easy.” 

He frowns. “Pro heroes are always having to risk their lives. Some villains just can't be beaten without powers. So no, I honestly don't think you can be a hero without a quirk.” He meets Izuku’s eyes, and Izuku tries not to cry. He feels the tears rising, biting at his eyes, but thankfully All Might turns away from him. 

“If you want to help people, there's plenty of other ways to do it. You can become a police officer. They get crap because the heroes capture most of the villains, but it's a fine profession. It's not bad to have a dream young man, just... make sure your dreams are obtainable, realistic, understand?” All Might rambles on, coughing a bit when he finishes, but Izuku can’t process the words. He can’t be a hero. If All Might said it, it must be true, right? He can’t be a hero. 

An explosion rings out from behind him, probably a few blocks away, but still loud enough to make him gasp. All Might turns, grits his teeth.

“I have to go check that out,” he says, not even  _ looking _ at Izuku. “You knock on the door and I’m sure the people downstairs will let you in if it’s locked.” He doesn’t make eye contact, just puffs back into his muscle form and coughs before jumping away. Izuku just stares. 

Izuku wonders, briefly, if he could have said something different. If he’d worded it differently. Maybe if he’d taken down the villain himself, instead of waiting. He wonders if he’d get a second chance, if he died. He looks around. The building is taller than the others around, and all of the other roofs are empty. All Might probably landed here  _ because  _ it was tall. 

The only thing stopping him is a chain link fence around the perimeter of the roof. Izuku walks up to it, climbs it. The metal digs into the flesh of his hands, and he pauses at the top. What if he doesn’t wake up, like last time? What if he doesn’t  _ die _ ?

He looks down, and his head swims sickeningly at the distance. Oh, he’ll die. He doesn’t stop to let himself have more time to think about this. He scrambles over the edge of the chain link fence and steps onto the thin ledge between him and the (ten-story? More? He can’t tell.) fall. He takes a deep breath and jumps.

As he falls, he lets himself think about it. He lets himself think that if he wakes up, if things go back again, it means that he  _ does _ have a quirk. It means he really can take a swan dive off a roof and hope for better luck in his next life. It means that all along, he’s been useless and worthless because he  _ hasn’t died yet _ .

He hits the ground.

\--

Izuku opens his eyes, expecting Kacchan’s hand on his shoulder and the fluorescent lights of his classroom, but instead the wind blowing across the roof whips against his face. He’s staring at the chainlink fence, from where he was standing when All Might jumped away. He sees the clouds drifting across the sky, high above the buildings, tinted orange with the setting sun. He blinks. 

He has a quirk. The thought is foreign to him, and he doesn't know what to think other than  _ he has a quirk _ ! It didn't make sense, really. He'd been diagnosed quirkless at age five based on the fact that despite him lacking the extra toe joint, a battery of tests hadn't revealed  _ any _ evidence of a quirk. He was told that this just happens, sometimes. It's caused by two quirks canceling each other out completely, or by having a latent quirk so weak it was undetectable. Sometimes, too, genetics regress. A quirked family might have a child that lacks the genes for a quirk but kept the evolved toes. He should pick a different dream. Nobody's quirks had ever manifested past the age of six, anyway.

He'd held out until his sixth birthday before he had let himself believe it, and here he was, 14 and learning of his quirk for the first time. 

Izuku couldn't die. He sits down on the concrete rooftop, breathes. If he does, he's taken back to shortly before the event. He's not sure how far back it will go, though. Does it depend on what killed him? 

He starts to take out his notebook to write in it when the sound of another explosion catches his attention. He looks in the direction it came from just in time to see another one, bright and flashy. It looks kind of familiar.

Before he knows what he's doing, he's rushing in the direction of the blasts. He doesn't think he wants to analyze the heroes working the rescue, not after what just happened anyway. It wouldn't feel right. But he still finds himself running along the streets, towards the sounds of a struggle. He feels his heart beating fast in his chest as he rounds the corner to see that same sludge villain. He gasps.

He recognizes it, and he stands on his tiptoes to see over the crowd. There's a shock of blonde hair in the villain's grasp, and Izuku feels dread gather in the pit of his stomach. Did he make All Might drop the bottle when he grabbed onto him? If so, this would be his fault. 

He sees the boy in the villain's grasp twist, grabbing a breath of air just as another volley of explosions go off. Izuku finds his breath taken away when he recognizes Kacchan, his face red from exertion and damp from sweat. Why weren't the heroes stepping in?

Izuku glances around desperately, only to see a hero working to put out the fires and another gathering civilians, but none of them helping Kacchan. He doesn't even think; his legs carry him on his own as he pushes through the crowd and runs at the villain. 

He doesn't know what to do, though, and when he gets to the villain, it's ready for him. It slams a mass of thick sludge into his face, knocking him into the asphalt. A burst of red hot pain erupts on the side of his head, and woozily, he pulls himself up. The villain is right in front of him, Kacchan's struggles making the sludge writhe and bubble. The villain lurches towards him, and a flash of an explosion is the last thing he sees.

\--

When Izuku blinks his eyes open, he’s back on top of the roof. He swears he can still feel the heat of the explosions, but this time he doesn’t hesitate to run down the stairs, through the streets. He rushes at the villain again, this time from the side, but Kacchan’s quirk kills him before he can even get close.

\--

On the third try, he takes a second to blink the sunspots out of his eyes before he moves. The roof is as quiet and windy as ever, and Izuku can hear the sounds of Kacchan’s quirk, like before, but he doesn’t rush. He sits down and opens his notebook, flipping through the pages. 

He’s delighted to see that it’s all still legible, at least for him reading his own handwriting, anyway. He flips through the pages, looking for anything he’d written down about villains similar to this one. His heart thumps in his chest, and he wants nothing more than to get down there, to save Kacchan, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t get up, even though he remembers how it felt to have the villain choking you while you fought back, remembers the desperate plea in Kacchan’s eyes. He doesn’t move, because he knows from personal experience that he will  _ die _ if he doesn’t go in with a game plan. If he takes too long, well, he’ll just kill himself and rewind. 

Izuku finds a page in his journal, just a half filled one, but it’s what he needs. It’s over an intern, a hero-in-training who can turn herself into water, all except for her head. It’s a good power, but he’s written down the weaknesses, including the fact that her head clearly being solid gives it away as her weak point. Seeing it, written so plainly, Izuku feels dumb. He gathers up his bag and his notebook and runs to the scene, hoping he’ll get there in time and won’t have to die to make this work.

The scene isn’t any different from last time, except there’s more fire and the crowd watching has grown bigger. Izuku feels a swell of anger at that as he pushes through the crowd. The heroes are  _ right here _ , and they haven’t done anything. They’re watching Kacchan choke and die, and they aren’t moving because they aren’t a  _ good match _ . Izuku bites his lip to stop himself from making a face. He forces his way through the barrier, ignoring shouts behind him, and lobs his backpack at the villain’s eyes.

He sees it hit out of the corner of his eye as he whips around to glare directly at Kamui Woods. “The eyes,” he pants, pointing at the sludge villain and praying Kamui listens to him and moves before the villain recovers. “Hit it in the eyes.”

Kamui’s eyes widen slightly and he nods, whipping out two wooden branches to smack the villain in its eyes, right as it opens the one Izuku’s backpack had hit. The pain seems to be enough, and Kacchan struggles free, dropping onto the ground gasping for air. The ground around him crackles with the force of the explosion he lets off, and then he’s on his feet, stumbling towards the police officers that are grabbing onto Izuku and pulling him back. 

Kacchan makes eye contact with him as the other heroes jump into the fray, apparently spurred on by Kamui fighting the villain. Without Kacchan setting off new explosions, it looks like the fire isn’t a big issue for them. Izuku stares as Kamui wraps a wooden tendril around the sludge villain’s mouth like a gag. 

“Hey, kid,” the officer next to him says, nudging him. “You alright? You really shouldn’t cross police barriers.” 

Izuku looks up and nods. “I’m okay. Sorry.”

The officer shrugs. “You had a smart idea.” He looks back over at the fight, and Izuku slips behind him, pushing back into the crowd. A couple of people say something to him, but he ignores it, walking away from the scene. He’ll get his backpack later, when the fires have gone out. His notebook is plenty burned already. For right now, all he wants to do is sleep. 

A hand on his shoulder stops him, and he turns to see the skeleton form of All Might. 

“Kid,” All Might says. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders.” He sighs. “I know I was harsh earlier, but... you’d make a really good detective. Don’t let your dream get in the way of your potential.” He smiles at Izuku, but it looks creepy in this form. 

Izuku smiles back, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s okay. Thank you, All Might,” he says, then brushes the hand off of his shoulder and walks away. 

He doesn’t need All Might’s approval, not anymore. He isn’t quirkless. He  _ has _ a quirk, and he isn’t going to let it go to waste.


	2. a boy in cosplay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahah i haven't been writing all day instead of doing literally anything productive what do you mean

School seems so stupid, now that it’s so close to the end of the year. Izuku knows he should be paying attention to his teachers, but it’s hard when he knows that he has a  _ quirk! _

He hasn’t told anyone, though. He stares out the window of the classroom, picking at the edge of his notebook. Kacchan’s mom had brought it over after the incident, saying she’d heard from Kamui that he had the idea to aim for the eyes. She told him to be careful, that Kacchan was recovering fine. Izuku’s written in it nearly nonstop since, filling it with theories about his own quirk, but keeping the writing in third person. He flips to the most recent page, stares at the sloppy handwriting, the smudges of pencil lead from being opened and shut too many times. 

It’s not like he  _ shouldn’t _ tell anyone, he thinks. His mom would be horrified, that’s for sure, but she’d still be happy for him. The issue is he doesn’t think anybody  _ but  _ his mom would believe him. It’s only rational. If he, a fourteen year old professional diagnosed as quirkless, suddenly started claiming to have a quirk that he couldn’t  _ prove _ existed, he’d get brushed off as lying to make things better for himself. He doesn’t want the bullying to get worse, not even as much as some small part of him wants to tell the bullies and then  _ kill himself in front of them to see their reactions _ . God, what is wrong with him? 

The thing is, now that he knows it isn’t permanent (and that he’s done it before), suicide doesn’t sound so terrifying. It doesn’t sound so forbidden, so out of reach. He finds himself daydreaming about it. He’s already considered the fact that his quirk might have a limit, but it would likely be time based, not a total number of maximum uses. Maybe if he dies in quick succession, too quickly for his quirk to rewind time, he’ll stay dead. He doesn’t plan to push it, not like that, but he figures that between jumping off the roof and getting blown up by Kacchan, he probably was alive only five minutes. As long as he doesn’t push that boundary, doesn’t try anything funny like killing himself five times in five seconds, he should be fine. 

He’s already considered the fact that his quirk is likely time related, in general. He’s not reviving after dying; he’s  _ rewinding _ to before he died in the first place. It’s different from a regeneration quirk because it means that nobody will ever have to know. It also means he won’t heal from wounds, and that if he does die, he doesn’t necessarily know how far back he’ll be when he wakes up. He’s okay with that, though. So far it seems that he’s rewound the minimum amount back to prevent him from immediately dying again, which should give him time to make minor changes to actions. He wonders if, with training, he could control where it rewinds to. He doesn’t know where to start with that, though. 

The final bell ringing jolts him out of his thoughts, and he hears someone laugh at whatever face he must be making. He feels his cheeks color, realizing that a group of about four kids is staring at him, grins on their faces. Kacchan is there, too, but he’s just sitting on his desk and staring at Izuku with a blank look.

“Hey, Deku,” one of the other boys says, slamming a hand down on his desk. “Still trying to study quirks? Didn’t we tell you that was a waste of time?”

Izuku looks up at him and swallows. He’d avoided major beatings since the sludge villain incident, and honestly, he isn’t really looking forward to the next one. 

“Oi.” Izuku snaps his head around to look at Kacchan, who’s standing next to his chair instead of sitting in it. “Deku is  _ mine _ today. None of you extras are gonna interfere, got it?”

The guy leaning on Izuku’s desk backs up, raising both hands. “Alright, fine. But you gotta save some of the fun for the rest of us, Bakugou.”

Kacchan just snarls at him, and he shrugs in response, walking out of the classroom. The rest of the class drains out after him, but Izuku just stares at Kacchan where he’s standing in front of his desk, glaring down at Izuku.

“What did you think you were fucking doing?” Kacchan asks, his lip curling over his teeth.

“W-What?” Izuku asks, confused. He scoots his chair back slightly so he can stand up if he needs to, but Kacchan leans forward and grabs his collar in one hand, dragging him forward until they’re both leaning over the desk. 

“With the fucking sludge villain. What the  _ fuck _ was that?” Kacchan snarls, and Izuku can smell his breath, can feel the moisture on his face.

Izuku screws his eyes shut. “You j-just... you l-looked like you n-needed help...” 

He braces himself for a hit, but Kacchan just drops him, and he’s so startled by it that he almost knocks his chin against the desk. He glances up, startled, and see Kacchan stomping out of the classroom.

“Stay out of my fucking way, Deku!” Kacchan shouts when he sees Izuku looking. “I didn’t need any fucking  _ help _ .” He says it like it’s poisonous, then turns and walks out the classroom door. Izuku stares. He feels like he has deja vu, which is kind of funny because while he has lived through some stuff twice, this particular encounter isn’t one of those times. 

\--

Izuku gets the idea one evening when he’s in his room, tucked under a blanket and watching hero videos on his phone. He watches Mt. Lady slam a villain into the ground and he thinks,  _ maybe I could do that _ . 

Not the slamming into the ground. He’s not strong enough for that, but it occurs to him that it’s not like he could  _ die _ . He wouldn’t be in any danger, as a hero. He couldn’t get hurt. He could throw himself into dangerous rescues and not only would he survive, he would  _ get multiple tries _ . He shuts his phone off and stares into the blackness of his room.

He could be a hero. It’s not unattainable but the thing is, he doesn’t want to be a hero with a quirk. He wants to be the first  _ quirkless _ hero, he realizes, clenching his hands into fists and staring at his dark ceiling. Even if he isn’t  _ actually _ quirkless, he’ll essentially be fighting like he is. His quirk isn’t any good in combat or rescue, not unless he literally dies. His quirk also leaves no evidence that he knows of. Nobody would know.

And even if he isn’t actually quirkless, he thinks, wouldn’t it be nice for the quirkless kids growing up? Wouldn’t it help them, even if they’re still bullied and told they’re useless and beaten up? Wouldn’t it help  _ someone _ , for there to be a publicly quirkless hero?

So he decides right then, bundled up in his comforter, in the dark in his room after school. He’s going to apply to UA. He’s going to get in. He’ll get multiple tries, won’t he? If he messes up the first time, well.... He can just take a swan dive off a roof and hope for better luck in the next life. 

He realizes though, that he has no practice. No training, and no quirk to compensate for his lack of ability. He could probably get into UA with enough tries anyway, but he doesn’t know how far back he’ll reset. What if it’s midway through the test, and he can’t prepare at all no matter what? He needs to train, somehow.

He turns over in bed, shuts his eyes. He’ll figure something out. He always does. 

\--

Dagobah Beach is an ugly, messy thing. The junk heaps covering the expanse of it all are unsightly, and the stench of the rotting seaweed mixed with old garbage is enough to make Izuku gag as he picks his way through the trash to the shore, where clear water brushes up against his shoes. He stares at it. He’d thought the water would be nasty too, for some reason, but it’s sparkling and clear, like glass. The sand underneath is a pale brown, speckled with bits of shells. Seafoam clings to the sand when the water pulls back, looking like suds from a bath. 

He’s come up with a couple of ideas since he had his realization about being a hero. The first is to clean the beach. It’s messy, and it’s local enough that not a lot of people go here, anyway. Nobody else is cleaning it up. It’ll help him train his body. 

Second, he thinks he’s going to start exploring the streets at night. Nothing crazy; he’s not going to go looking for dark alleyways to get abducted in. But now he doesn’t have to be afraid of getting killed in some damp corner. He can get a feel for what it looks like, at night, when crime actually takes place. He’ll have to be a popular hero, a famous one, for his quirklessness to actually help things for other quirkless kids out there, but he thinks... well. Some part of him, at least, feels sick at the idea of smiling and laughing and praising All Might in public. It had started with vague disappointment, after All Might told him he couldn’t be a hero, but it twisted into something like resentment the more he thought about it. Izuku leans down, picking up an empty beer can and shoving it into the black plastic garbage bag he’d brought with him, grimacing. He’ll need to buy gloves unless he wants to get his hands cut up. 

Cleaning the beach is hard work. He expected it to be difficult because some of the stuff is heavy, but it’s also a lot of walking. His garbage bag gets full really quickly, and he has to walk back to his house. His mom opens the door for him, smiling.

“Oh, Izuku,” she says, ushering him inside. “How’s the cleaning going?”

He smiles at her. “It’s okay! I need to get more garbage bags, though.” He’d told her about what he was doing this morning before he headed out, and she thought it was a wonderful idea.

“Of course,” he says, ducking into the kitchen. “Should I just give you the whole box?”

“Yes please!” He chirps back, and he enjoys the cool breeze of the air conditioning while he waits. He hears the cabinet door shut and his mom’s footsteps as she walks back over to him.

“Here you go, sweetie!” She hands him the box with a grin. “Don’t forget to stay hydrated! Oh, and if you get hungry, there’s onigiri in the fridge.”

He nods, smiling at her. “Thanks, mom!” He waves at her and ducks back outside, hopping down the steps and back to the beach.

It goes faster from that point, since he’s getting used to the routine. He’s starting with the small stuff, little pieces that broke off of things and litter that washed up on shore, but he can see the difference in the beach after only a few hours. There’s more space to walk between the junk, less wrappers and empty bottles scattered in the sand. He thinks it might smell a little better, too, but that might just be his nose getting used to the stench. 

By the time the sun is low in the sky, hanging over the horizon and painting everything in bright peach hues, he’s tired and sweaty but feels good. He feels like he’s doing something. He might not have done much, but it’s better than nothing, right?

He sleeps deeply that night, dreaming of UA and heroism for the first time since he died.

\--

A few nights later, he’s on the streets. It’s after dark, and he feels a little bad about sneaking out through his window, but he knows it would only worry his mom if she knew he was out this late in the night. It’s just past 11 p.m., and the sky is as dark as it ever gets in the city. The moon is fat and bright in the sky, not quite full but almost there. Izuku walks through the street, hands tucked in his hoodie pockets. He feels a little weird, walking this route when it’s dark instead of during the day on the way to school, but it’s also strangely relaxing. He knows he isn’t going to run into his bullies, at least.

That’s probably why he’s surprised when he hears the sounds of an argument, low and muffled. He stops, turns and slowly walks in the direction of the noise, pressing his back to the brick wall that borders the next turn. He hears the voices more clearly now, and he knows they’re just around the next corner.

“Dude,” the first voice says, pleading and nervous. “I swear, I’ll have enough money next week. I really thought I’d have enough by now, I swear.” Izuku hears the sound of something clicking. It sounds familiar, but he can’t place it.

“Is that so,” another voice replies, this one lower and rougher. “It’s too bad that I’m impatient.” Izuku winces as he hears a sickening thud, like someone had just hit human flesh with something heavy. Without giving himself a chance to think about it, Izuku glances around the corner, trying to keep himself hidden. 

He sees two men, both fairly fit, but one is a lot taller than the other and holding a  _ gun _ . Izuku feels the blood drain from his face as he realizes the sound he heard earlier must have come from the man messing with it. It’s a shiny black handgun, and from the smear of blood on the butt of it and the bruising cut on the smaller man’s forehead, the larger man had just hit him with it. Neither of them seem to notice Izuku as he glances over the situation. They’re both dressed in casual clothes, but the larger man is wearing a leather jacket and heavy boots, while the smaller one wears nothing to protect his arms and has on sandals.

_ Only one of them knew to expect a fight _ , he realizes, and his breath catches in his throat when the larger man fiddles with the gun, making another clicking noise.

“Y’know what time it is?” The man asks, cocking the gun and pointing it at the smaller man’s head. The smaller man just shakes his head, biting at his lip and raising his hands in a pleading gesture.

Izuku moves before he can think, his legs not obeying his orders to stay still. He rushes out, tackling the smaller man to the ground just as the larger man shoots, the gunshot loud and painful in his ears. He winces as he lands on his butt, the smaller man right next to him, looking dazed. 

“Run!” Izuku says, his voice quieter than he’d meant. “Get out of here!” He shoves at the smaller man, shocked when the guy stands up and complies with his orders. He sprints out of the alleyway, whimpering. 

Izuku sighs a breath of relief, then looks up. The larger man has his jaw clenched, and he’s shaking with rage, his pupils tiny pinpricks. 

“Fucking  _ kid _ ,” he snarls, and that’s the only warning Izuku gets before the back of the gun is whacked against his cheek, painful and hot. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Izuku reaches up a hand to touch his cheek. He feels blood, and weirdly enough the only thing he can think about is that his mom will be worried about the cut. He stares up at the man, and he realizes he’s started to tremble.

“I, um, I-I,” he bites his lips. “I’m s-sorry,” he says, pleading with his eyes.

The man groans, then kicks Izuku in the stomach. “God, I’m not going to shoot a fucking  _ kid _ . Stay the fuck out of my way!” He kicks Izuku again, this time hitting his ribs and knocking him a few feet back. He grunts and starts away, headed in the direction the smaller man ran off in, but not even walking particularly fast. Izuku stares after him.

_ What on earth was I thinking _ ? He wonders, reaching up to feel his cheek again. The adrenaline pumping through his veins is dulling the pain, making him feel like a live wire. It’s not like it would have helped the other guy if Izuku had died. Everything would have just reset, so why did he bother?

_ Except, _ Izuku thinks,  _ I didn’t die _ . It’s strange, to think he might have saved a life tonight. Even if the larger man catches up with the smaller guy now, maybe there was at least a chance to call the cops. Izuku wonders, for a moment, if he could do it again. If he could go find another fight, break it up with his body. Either he dies and nothing happens, or he lives and he’s saved someone. It’s a win-win. 

Well. More of a win-neutral, anyway. Izuku stands up, wincing at the way his ribs ache. Those would bruise in the morning. It isn’t the worst he’s had, though.

He starts to walk back home, picking his way through the streets, and if he starts thinking about what he’d need to do to conceal his identity if he kept this up, well, that’s nobody’s business but his own. 

\--

Izuku feels silly, at the costume store. He’s one of the only people in the store in the first place, and considering that it’s late February, nobody is getting a costume for Halloween or Hero Day. It’s chilly outside today, and Izuku is honestly kind of enjoying the heating in the costume store. He’d walked here as soon as school let out, but his uniform isn’t quite warm enough for this weather. He’ll have to keep that in mind when designing his costume, he thinks. 

Izuku doesn’t need to get everything from here, anyway. He’s already placed orders online for a long sleeved black shirt that had a high collar and was made of “activewear material,” whatever that meant. He’s already got a pair of black boots in his closet, a gift from his mom for Christmas. They’d be perfect for vigilante work, although his mom had gotten them with the intent of him using them at UA. 

_ Vigilante work, huh? _ He thinks, smiling to himself as he pulls a matching pair of red gloves out of a bin. He’s not sure he really considers what he’s planning vigilante work, exactly, but that’s the closest description he’d come up with, anyway.

He’s already decided that his nighttime outfit needs to be as different as possible from his daylight costume. He’s been planning something green and All Might inspired for his hero costume for ages, and he knows that even though All Might isn’t his favorite any more, he’s more than a little attached to the designs he’s made. For his vigilante work, then, he’d decided on a red and black theme. The black because it’d be easier to blend in with the shadows and the red because it’s the opposite of his green daylight concept. The gloves he’s holding, clearly an adaptation on workout gloves but dark crimson red for hero cosplay, are a perfect touch. He’ll need something like this to prevent fingerprints.

He holds on to the gloves and walks over to a display of belts. Most of them are styled after specific heroes; this shop specializes in cosplay, after all. There’s also plain belts in most colors, though, for cosplaying lesser known heroes or for other uses. Izuku picks out one that matches his gloves and has a good number of pouches and hooks on it. He thinks it’s supposed to be an imitation of one of the ones Crimson Riot used to wear, but he isn’t totally sure. It’s made of woven fabric, and the tag says it’s fireproof, as is usually required for costume material. Izuku remembers reading about it in class. Since people in costumes tend to use their quirks, either for hero work or for reenactments, they’re supposed to be at least minimally resistant to fire, to the point where they wouldn’t instantly go up in flames on contact with fire. It’ll be good enough for what Izuku is doing. 

He looks over the pants briefly, but he’s decided to just wear a pair of sturdy balck jeans, anyway. He hasn’t really worn them out before, since he’s usually in his uniform or workout clothes lately, so they wouldn’t be recognizable to his daytime identity, anyway. He walks over to a display of masks. 

Most of them aren’t suitable. They either don’t cover enough, imitate a hero, or they look like they’d make fighting hard. He stops when he sees a display of face masks modelled after surgical masks, just plain ones that cover your mouth and nose. He pauses, grabbing a plain black one and holding it. He’d need another piece to cover his eyes, but...

He glances around, spotting a display of safety glasses and goggles. He grins. Eye protection is a good idea anyway, and this way he won’t have to worry about his face or his eyes giving him away. He glances over the options for a moment before selecting a pair of reflective goggles, a shiny red mirror that shows his own face. He tries them on, and they aren’t tinted, which will be great for night time. He carefully puts the goggles in his growing armful of stuff, then turns to get his last item. 

He goes to a display of wash-out hair dye and grabs the largest, multi-use bottle of black dye they have. He knows that out of anything, with everything covering his body and face, his hair would be the most likely to give it away. Curly hair alone, in a plain unassuming black, though? It’d do the trick. 

He goes to the checkout counter and dumps everything he’s bought on the glass surface. The guy behind the register looks bored as he rings everything up.

“Who’re you dressing up as?” He asks, then reads the total cost to Izuku.

“He’s an original character,” Izuku says, smiling as he hands over the money.

\--

Izuku waits to go out in his costume until the beach is nearly halfway clear and his muscles no longer ache when he tries to move some of the bigger things. He hasn’t been able to budge some of the objects, but he knows he’ll get there. 

That’s why he’s doing this now. It'll let him train parts of him that the beach doesn’t, like stealth and dexterity. He hops out of his window and onto the soft path of dirt beneath him. He’s wearing his long sleeved shirt, a maroon hoodie, black jeans, his boots, and the utility belt he’d bought. The mask and reflective goggles have his face covered, and his hair is dyed a deep black that doesn’t show a lick of green in the dim light. He’s pulled it back into what must be the world’s tiniest ponytail, his mom’s hair tie at the nape of his neck and just  _ barely _ holding everything in, but he knows he’s completely unrecognizable, which is exactly the point. 

He steps onto the street, glancing around to double check that he's alone before he starts along the road, walking with his shoulders straight and his hands in his pockets. The gloves, hoodie, and mask together help, but the air still chills his skin, and he picks up the pace into a light jog, his boots tapping on the concrete. His breath comes easier than it would have even a few weeks ago, before he started cleaning up the beach. He relishes the sting of the cold air in his throat, and he catches himself smiling as he jogs along. 

Unsurprisingly, the streets are pretty quiet. The area of Musutafu that he and his mom live in is a calm, residential area. He’s thought about the act of  _ finding  _ crime itself quite a lot. He must have been lucky to stumble on that fight the first night; it wouldn’t necessarily be easy to find these things in the first place. After all, part of the goal of the criminals would be to stay hidden, wouldn’t it?

The crickets chirping in the long grasses poking out between the sidewalk and the wall seem to agree with him, singing happily in their homes. He can hear his footsteps echoing against the concrete ground and the brick walls that border the yards in this part of the city, too loud in the night. He’ll need to learn how to walk more quietly, he thinks.

He turns down a road that he knows leads into the nastier part of the city, even if it is still a few blocks away. The buildings up ahead went up quickly, cheaply constructed from concrete and iron. They look like they’re older than they are, with vines twisting on some of their sides and cracks on others. This is where the people who can’t afford to live anywhere else go, where the seediest bars and the strangest clubs lurk. If he’s going to find crime, it’ll be over here. 

It takes him the better part of an hour to find anything, and that’s probably why he finds himself about to keep walking when he hears it. It’s hard to tell what exactly he hears that sounds off. He stops, standing under a streetlight that casts a yellow light over the ground, flickering ever so slightly. He can hear the bulb inside buzzing, and watches as a group of moths bump around the light, knocking into the case surrounding it. They look black on the bright backdrop of the light, orange-yellow and flickering as it is. Izuku watches a moth circle it lazily as he listens to what sounds like a group of guys joking around. 

The voices are coming from the alleyway just past the streetlight, and Izuku really isn’t sure why he’s stopped in the first place. It sounds like just two or three guys, and he hears one of them laugh, happy and deep.  _ They’re probably just drunk and playing around _ , he thinks, and he goes to move on when he hears something else.

He can’t be quite sure, but he thinks he hears a woman’s voice, pleading and squeaky. He thinks that he must have heard it before, but not registered it consciously, and he strains to listen as he slips into the alleyway pressing himself against the building closest to him, the concrete surface smooth and cool. The shadow of the building seems to do a good job of keeping him hidden, because as he inches along the alleyway, none of the people at the end of it seem to see or hear him. 

He can see three men, just teenagers, really. He thinks they might be 16 or 17; not much older than him. They’re laughing, shoving at each other, and grinning, but what makes Izuku grit his teeth and inch closer is the woman they’re cornering against a wall. She’s their age, dressed in similar clothes to them, too. Izuku notes that they’re all wearing the same uniform under their jackets.  _ They’re probably from the same high school _ , he registers, creeping closer. 

He kneels behind a dumpster that blocks his path along the side of this building. It stinks of rotten food, but he’s used to it after all of that time on the beach. He can hear the conversation much more clearly from here, and he studies the shadows of the guys’ legs as they move, cool black on the cool grey concrete. The light seems to be coming mostly from the moon up above; Izuku can’t see even a hint of the yellow from the streetlight.

“Come  _ on _ ,” one of the guys says, his voice nasally and high. “You should come back to my place with us. It’ll be fun,” he says, a smile in his voice.

“I-I told you,” the girl replies, voice wavering. “I want to go home.” 

One of the guys snorts, and Izuku hears what sounds like someone kicking the ground, a large scuffing noise. “Oh, really?” A different guy speaks. “You’re going to let us get this far and then reject us? Not cool.” This guy sounds older than the other one, although not by much. 

“Dude, let’s just take her,” the third man says. “With my quirk, we can just--”

Izuku hears the girl shriek, then get cut off like something covered her mouth. He grits his teeth, then scoots forward on his feet to peer around the dumpster.

The tallest of the guys, a skinny one wearing a yellow hoodie, has a hand raised, each finger turning into a thick rope that extends over to where the girl is pressed against the wall in fear. Three ropes are wrapped around her forearms and waist, binding them together, and the other two are wrapped around her mouth like a gag. 

“Nice,” the second voice whistles from where he’s watching wearing a green windbreaker. “Let’s--”

And that’s when Izuku moves, even though he doesn’t know how he’s going to swing this or how on earth he’s going to get that girl out of harm’s way. He runs at the man with the rope-hand quirk, launching himself up onto the man’s shoulders and then leaning backward, trying to pull him  _ down _ . It works, but he lands on top of Izuku and he’s heavy. Izuku hits the ground and gasps, feeling all of the air pushed out of his lungs at once. The man he pulled over screams, and the one with the green jacket shouts, but all Izuku cares about as he cranes his neck up to look is if the woman got away.

He sees her, ropes loosened but not dropped. She struggles for a second, then gets her hands out of the ropes and pushes them off of her. She starts to try and run, but the first guy to speak catches her, his denim jacket almost grey in the darkness. He grabs her shoulders and grips her what must be painfully tight, and Izuku grits his teeth, kicking at the body squirming on top of him. 

He feels an impact on his stomach as the man kicks at him, but the motion frees him from the man’s weight. Izuku pushes himself up into a crouch, then springs back when the yellow-hoodie guy, still on the ground, throws a messy punch at his face. His hands, Izuku notes, aren’t rope all of the time, and as he jumps to his feet he wonders why the guy wouldn’t have used his quirk on him.  _ Maybe he forgot _ . 

Izuku scrambles back, shooting a glance to where the girl is struggling to get out of her captor’s arms, kicking back at his shins and biting his arm where it’s holding her. The man screams, and Izuku realizes that the girl’s teeth are unnaturally sharp, arranged like fangs on a cartoon vampire. It must be part of her quirk, and the guy quickly drops her, swearing and pressing a hand to the bleeding wound in his forearm.

“Son of a  _ bitch _ !” he curses, turning to run after her, but Izuku dives at his legs, trying to somewhat repeat his stunt from earlier with the rope-hand guy. It doesn’t knock bleeding arm guy over, though, just sends him stumbling back a few steps, grunting in surprise.

“Fucking brat,” someone spits from just behind Izuku, and suddenly the breath is knocked out of him, a sneakered foot digging into his ribs with a strong kick. Izuku is knocked away from the guy with the bleeding arm, and he lands on his ass, one hand bracing himself and the other raised to try and block any incoming hits. He winces as another foot comes flying at him, this one aimed at his face, and his hand softens the blow but gives him a flare of pain in his palm. 

“What,” the guy with the green windbreaker sneers, “do you think you’re some kind of  _ hero _ ? Dressed up in that bullshit?” He kicks Izuku’s shin. 

“God  _ damn _ ,” bleeding arm guy says, hand still clamped over his arm. “I’m gonna have to get fucking stitches.”

Izuku pushes himself off the ground, trying to get up so he can run  _ away _ , but he feels something rough and tight wrap around his thigh and yank him back to the ground. He looks up to see the guy with the ropes for hands leering down at him, his lip bloody where he must have bit it when Izuku knocked him over. He feels dread pool in the pit of his stomach when he realizes he’s not only cornered, but also caught, and he reaches his hands down to try and loosen the rope wrapped around his thigh, just above the knee. He scrabbles at it, but he can’t even get his gloved hands underneath the rope; it’s too tight. He glances back up, looking desperately for an escape route, but the three men are all facing him now, windbreaker guy with a terrifying grin on his face. 

Bloody arm guy spits at him, and Izuku turns his head just in time to avoid the spit hitting his face. He’s glad he did when he hears a sizzle where the spit landed on the wall behind him, and he can’t see it but he can smell something sulfurous. He clenches his jaw and hopes that they kill him quickly so he can try again. Maybe next time, he’ll be smart enough to bring a weapon at least. He’s practically fighting quirkless, as is. 

Rope guy yanks, and Izuku shuts his eyes and braces himself as he’s dragged across the dirty concrete. He feels someone stomp down on his stomach, and then abruptly, he hears a shout and the weight is gone. The rope around his thigh loosens, and he opens his eyes in surprise. 

He sees something that looks like bandages floating in the air around him, a thick, canvas-like fabric that whips around and wraps around rope guy. Izuku sits up, pushing himself back and away from the other two guys, but it doesn’t seem to matter because they both turn and start to run. 

“Not so fast,” a low, adult voice growls, and Izuku watches as a man clad in all black with golden goggles steps out from behind rope guy, brandishing the fabric. It quickly snaps to wrap around the other two, tying bloody arm guy and windbreaker guy together in one wrapping of white material. Izuku scrambles up to his feet, watching as the new man’s black hair falls down from where it had been floating above his head, landing on his shoulders in a mess of black curls. 

The man steps into the alleyway, his face turned to Izuku, now. Izuku bites his lip and he presses himself to the wall of the alley. Suddenly, it clicks. He recognizes him.

“Eraserhead,” he breathes, and Eraserhead quirks an eyebrow at him. “The erasure hero.” It occurs to him all at once that not only is he dressed like a wannabe hero (or villain) in front of an actual pro who he is a fan of, but also that Eraserhead is quite possibly the most dangerous person in the entire world for him. If he erases Izuku’s quirk and Izuku dies, he wouldn’t come back. 

“The girl said someone wearing a cosplay had saved her,” Eraserhead says, voice unreadable. “I guess that’s you.”

“T-That’s me,” Izuku replies, voice shaky. He takes a few steps along the wall, testing to see if Eraser will stop him. The man doesn’t move, and Izuku takes it as a sign. He breaks into a sprint, running from the alleyway as fast as he can. He passes under the flickering street lamp, listening for footsteps behind him, but he doesn’t hear any. It’s cold outside, and it stings his skin but not as much as his ribs and thigh ache. He feels like he can still smell that one guy’s blood, can still smell the stench of the dumpster, and he runs the entire way home. 

When he gets back, he hauls himself through the window, adrenaline still pumping through his veins. His heart pounds in his ears as he rips off the goggles and mask, as he tiptoes to the bathroom and turns the shower on the hottest temperature, even though it could wake his mom up. His heart rate doesn’t come back to normal until he’s standing under the spray, black hair dye washing out and running down his skin in dark rivulets. The bruises forming on his abdomen and thigh are bright red, turning violet in spots. 

When he sleeps, he dreams of the look on the girl’s face when she got away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings for implied sexual assault. nothing is graphic and nothing actually happens!
> 
> im going to try to update at least once a week for this, but obviously it's only been a day! i hope you enjoyed <3


	3. springtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time - izuku saves a girl from three men and meets eraserhead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a heads up, i will be deviating pretty heavily from canon as far as events go! i want to keep the characterization, but i dont intend on just rewriting canon events but with izuku's new quirk. this is going to take a different path and have a different story. some events, like the entrance exam, are of course unavoidable though!

Izuku is  _ sore _ the next day, sore in a way that he’s only ever been after his worst beatings from his bullies. Oddly enough, the bullying has slowed down since he found out about his quirk, even though none of them know. He wonders how much it has to do with the way Kacchan is avoiding him. He wonders if they’re planning something big. 

He rolls out of bed and his stomach feels like it’s been branded, poked with a red-hot iron and singed until the bones beneath are burned too. It makes him hiss, taking in air sharply and squeezing his eyes shut to push away the pain. Something about it is satisfying, though. If he’d ignored the situation, wouldn’t that girl be in just as much pain or more?  _ Isn’t it better if it’s me? _

School goes by in a blur. His bullies sneer at him, whisper about him in the halls, but nobody trips him or hits him or confronts him directly. It’s easier to ignore when it’s like this, when they’re barely even bothering him. He’s swept away in his head, reliving that fight over and over again. If he’d had a knife, he could have just cut the ropes. If he’d had any kind of weapon, really, he’d be able to fight back more effectively. Being functionally immortal doesn’t really help if he can’t actually fight in the first place, does it?

So when school lets out, when it’s late afternoon and the sky is a sodden grey with rain spilling out of the clouds and dripping in silver puddles on the sidewalk, Izuku hurries through the damp streets to a store that he knows sells knives. He remembers going there with his mom when one of their kitchen knives had gotten so dull it wouldn’t really cut the vegetables right, and this store had whetstones. He remembers staring at the display of utility knives, kitchen knives, and some that were probably mostly for display, seeing as he’s pretty sure they’re illegal to take in public.

By the time he gets to the storefront, the shoulders of his uniform and his hair are soaked through, and he’s shaking with the cold. He pushes open the door of the store and a bell tied to the top chimes softly. It’s warm inside, white-yellow light spilling out through the glass doors and onto the street outside. Izuku shivers despite the warm air. 

“Welcome,” a woman behind a counter says to him, smiling at him behind square glasses. She sets down a calculator, placing it on top of a piece of paper heavily covered in pencil marks and ink, and she steps out from behind the counter. There’s a black apron dusted with some grey and white powders wrapped around her, covering a flowery blouse and a pair of well-worn jeans. She looks like a high schooler, maybe a first year college student.

“Is there anything I can help you find?” she asks, a polite smile on her lips. She pushes one of her low pigtails back behind her shoulder. 

“Um,” Izuku says, eloquently. He’s not used to talking to girls, much less pretty ones. “I came to get some knives?” 

She tilts her head at him. “What kind were you looking for?”

Izuku swallows. “Something I-I could use f-for self defense,” he answers, voice quiet.

Her smile drops and she nods seriously, like she gets it. “Let me show you what we have,” she says, gesturing for him to follow as she walks down an aisle of steel shelves. Izuku realizes that the store is mostly hardware and weapons in the first place, and he figures that’s why they’ve only ever gone the one time. He and his mom don’t really have use for weapons, and their landlord is good about repairs when things do break. He eyes the plumbing material, looks at how many different shapes of piping and connectors there are and decides it’s for the best that he’s never had to mess with it. 

She stops in front of a board that has display shelves built into it, each shelf holding a number of knives. Izuku recognizes it from years ago, when he’d come here with his mom, but the order of things is all different and the knives seem smaller. It’s intimidating, how many options there are. 

“What kind of budget are you working with?” She asks, and Izuku tells her how much money he’s willing to spend. She nods, looking over the knives thoughtfully. 

“You’ll want something easy to conceal, to carry with you. No point in having a knife for self defense if it’s never there for you to use, right?.” She reaches up to the shelf and takes down a knife with a blade about as long as Izuku’s palm, the handle a little longer than the blade. It’s simple, straight, and he watches as she folds the blade easily into the handle. 

“I like this one because it has a good weight to it,” she says, voice a mumble, almost like she’s not talking to him. “It’s easy to open, too,” and she flicks a button and snaps her wrist, the knife opening easily. She snaps it shut with both hands, then offers it to him. 

Izuku takes it. “T-Thank you..” he says, holding the metal knife in his hand. The handle is black and textured for grip, cold and weighty in his hand. He copies what she did earlier, trying to snap the knife open with a flick of the wrist, but it doesn’t open. 

She chuckles. “Sorry. I should have said, it’s hard to open it with one hand if you haven’t practiced,” she rubs a hand on the back of her head, and for the first time Izuku notices a large, yellowing bruise on the inside of her wrist. He wonders if she gets bullied, too. 

Izuku swallows, then opens the knife with both hands. The blade is so shiny that it almost looks  _ soft _ , and he can see his wavering reflection in it along with the glowing reflections of the industrial lights above them. The blade snaps into place. The weight of it feels foreign in his hands, but it also feels good. It smells like iron.

“Oh, and if you get that, you should have some extra cash,” she says, and Izuku carefully presses the button and closes the knife, holding it in his palm. He watches as she leans up and takes another knife down from the top shelf. She turns to him, a small smile on her face as she offers him a strange looking weapon. The handle is shaped like a grip, with grooves for each of his fingers, and the blade sticks out between where his middle and ring fingers would go, a thin, double-sided blade of silvery metal. 

“This one’s for punching,” she says, her voice picking up excitedly. “These are so fun, really, and if you know how to throw a punch you’ll be fine using it.” She grips it in her hand, showing Izuku the way it fits her fist and sticks out from her fingers, wicked sharp. He wonders, briefly, if it’s legal for him to have these.

“I-I’ll take them both,” he says, and she smiles wide at him. 

“Great! I’ll get you ringed up,” she says, holding out a hand and offering the strange punching-knife. He takes it from her gingerly. 

She turns and walks back to the register, and he follows, glancing at all of the other stuff in the store. They sell bullets, strangely, but not guns, and he sees a lot of mismatched stuff around the place. Like fishing tackle, even though there isn’t much fishing around here. It’s odd, but certainly not the strangest thing he’s seen.

When he catches up to her at the register, she’s sliding a sheath across the glass counter. 

“For the one that doesn’t fold!” She says, smiling. “This way you don’t accidentally cut yourself.” Izuku takes it with a shaky nod, and watches as she types things into her calculator, scribbling down notes as she goes.

“Alright!” She says, and gives him the total. He hands over the cash, and she opens the register drawer with a ding, stuffing the bills into their over-full drawers.

When he goes home, after he thanks her and walks through the rainy streets of Musutafu, after he takes his damp shoes off and reassures his mom that he wasn’t out in the rain for long enough to get sick, he places the knives in pouches on his utility belt. He sits in his room at his desk and googles how to use knives in combat, how to throw a punch and how to defend himself. He might have a quirk, but he can’t rely on it for every situation. Endless tries mean nothing if he loses every time, right?

\--

The next time he goes out on the streets, he’s more careful. He keeps his hand on his belt, next to his knives, and he walks through the streets more cautiously, looking down alleyways even if all he hears is talking. It’s darker than that night with the three men and the girl because he had to wait until the bruises on his stomach healed enough that he could fight if he needed to, so he could move freely. The moon is a thin slit in the sky, silvery white where it hovers among the stars. Izuku walks through the streets, careful not to let his feet drag against the ground. The city is loud even at night, and he can hear the heavy bass of the music playing in a nearby club. The lights of billboards and open signs paints the streets, still damp from the rain that morning and the morning before that, in a rainbow of bright colors streaking across puddles and reflecting off of the dark ground. 

Izuku hears the fight before he sees it, just like the last time. It sounds different though, like two men growling and shouting at each other, like the sounds of fists meeting flesh. Izuku turns down the street the sounds are coming from the second he hears it, and he doesn’t have to bother hiding himself because the two guys brawling it out in front of a bar aren’t even looking. There’s blood dripping down one of their noses, running down his already stained white shirt and dropping onto the concrete. The air smells like alcohol and sweat, salty and volatile.

Izuku draws his knife, the normal one, and opens it before getting closer. He holds it by his side, hand turned out so the blade catches the light of the bar, the neon pink and bright red lights that decorate the front of the building. He angles the light so it reflects into one of the guy’s eye, stopping a few feet from them.

“Break it up,” he says, trying to make his voice lower than it really is. The guy with the bloody nose pauses, and the guy who isn’t bleeding follows suit. They both stare at him, clearly drunk. They’re swaying. 

“Who the fuck are you?” One of them asks, swaying. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Izuku says. “Stop fighting.” He raises the knife, pointing it at them, and it seems to do the trick. The two of them glance at each other, and the man with the bloody nose huffs, turning and walking away. The other guy turns and walks back into the bar, slamming the door behind him. Izuku stares for a moment, then turns and walks the opposite direction from where the bloody nose dude went. 

It’s a strange sensation, having people listen to him. He kind of likes it.

\--

Studying for the entrance exam is something Izuku saves mostly for the weekends, when he doesn’t have school to take up his daytime. He spends his afternoons on the beach cleaning and his evenings sleeping and patrolling the streets, with not a moment to spare for studying or relaxing. So, it’s a lazy Sunday morning that finds him hunched over his notebooks at his desk, reviewing his math over and over again. His back aches from sitting too long, and his left arm is bruised from blocking a hit the night before. He’s still just breaking up fights and stopping little crimes, nothing crazy and nothing of note, but he keeps managing to get little injuries that annoy him and make cleaning the beach slow work. Watching self defense videos and using the knives helps; he hasn’t had to cut anyone, yet, but they work wonderfully as a deterrent. 

He shakes his head, forcing himself to refocus on the equation he’s trying to figure out. It’s been a few months since they went over this, but he can’t help but feel stupid for not remembering such a simple concept. He knows this is on the UA entrance exam; according to an online forum he’s always on, they include a few topics from each subject in the exam every year, and the rest vary. He wants to make sure that, if nothing else, his written exam is perfect. He knows he’s not going to be able to rely on the practical portion, not with his quirk. 

His vision is blurry, though, and his eyes sting and burn when he blinks. He squeezes his right hand tighter around the pencil, trying to ground himself and get his brain to work already. It doesn’t work. He can feel the chair under his legs, the pencil tight in his hand, his nails biting into his palm, but he can’t focus on the schoolwork in front of him. He knows, somewhere in his mind, that he’s been working for too long, but he also knows he  _ has _ to overwork himself to get into UA without a useful quirk. He doesn’t have a choice.

A soft knock on the frame of his door pulls him out of his thoughts, and he turns to see his mom at the open door to his bedroom, a tray in her hands with a glass of iced water and a steaming bowl of rice. She smiles at him. 

“Izuku,” she says, stepping into his room and setting the tray on his desk. “You didn’t eat anything for lunch.” He watches a droplet of condensation roll down the surface of the glass.

“Thanks, mom,” he says, looking up at her and giving her a huge grin. She smiles wider back at him and gives him a pat on the back. 

“I know it’s important to you to get into UA, but don’t forget that your health is important too,” she says, glancing down at his notes. “Oh, is this what you’re working on?”

Izuku nods. “I can’t remember how to do it,” he admits, his face flaring red.

“Oh, well,” Inko says, picking up his pen. “I do something similar at work a lot. I can help you, if you want?”

Izuku nods. “Yes, please!”

When his mom walks him through the problem, writing her own neat notes next to his and telling him how she uses these for her own job, how she remembers the tricks and equations, it’s easier to focus. He gets through the material while he eats warm rice and drinks cold water, and before he knows it, his mom’s pulled up a chair and they’re working through all of that weekend’s tasks in just a few hours. 

\--

The last day of middle school is surreal. He sits through the closing ceremony in his uniform, feeling out of place. Feeling old. He doesn’t really listen to what anyone giving speeches says; he just sits and waits for it all to be over. High school will be better.  _ There’s nowhere to go but up from here, right? _

When the ceremony ends, he starts to walk home because where else would he go? It’s not like he has friends, except maybe Kacchan. Izuku honestly isn’t even sure if Kacchan counts, any more. He hasn’t really spoken to him except for snide comments, not since that day with the sludge villain. In some ways, Izuku is okay with it. He was getting tired of the bullying, of going home and hiding burns from his mom.  _ At least it gave me practice hiding the injuries, _ he thinks.  _ And pain tolerance. _

He steps into the tunnel that he’d been attacked in on that fateful day, the shadow of the bridge above casting the walkway in soft grey shade. It’s an unseasonably warm day, and it’s pleasant to be in the shade as opposed to miserably cold as it would normally be this time of year. It’s earlier than when they normally get out of school, too, so that could be why. The cherry blossom trees have just started to bloom, and the wind brushes soft pink petals under the bridge in little drifts, almost like tiny snowflakes. Izuku watches them as he walks, drags his feet along and kicks them in front of him.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t see the kids from his middle school until he literally runs into them. He steps back with a start and looks up in surprise to see three of the kids that have bullied him for the past three years, kicked him in the hallways, and held him while Kacchan burned him after school. He bites his lip and takes a step back.

“Deku,” one of the boys sneers, reaching out to grip his shoulder. “It’s been a while.” And it has. Izuku was starting to think he was free from all this. 

Izuku pushes the boy’s hand off of him with his other hand, stepping back again. They draw closer, though, and he finds himself settling into the fighting stance he’s used at night, on the roads and in the alleyways. One of them, his shoulder-length brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, laughs at him.

“What, are you gonna fight back for once” He shakes his head, turning to look at one of his buddies. “Wouldn’t it have made sense to do that at the beginning of school instead of the end? Stupid Deku.”

The other guy starts to laugh, and Izuku isn’t entirely sure  _ why _ he throws a punch at the guy whose head is still turned, but he does. His knuckles crack satisfyingly against his bully’s face, and the kid stumbles back, gripping his face with a hand. 

“What the hell?” One of the other kids throws a messy punch at him, but it’s slow and weak compared to the grown adults Izuku’s fought and intimidated the past month. He knocks it away with one hand and elbows the kid in the gut with the other arm. The guy grunts when it makes contact, folding over and gripping his stomach.

“God, what the  _ fuck? _ ” One of them asks, but Izuku doesn’t waste any time. He pushes past them and  _ runs _ , runs like he’s never really dared to before. 

He runs and runs, the trees all around him, budding green from the springtime warmth, blurring together with his speed. He runs, and he doesn’t stop until he’s far past his house, in the part of town that’s loud and alive at night but quiet and sad during the day. He stops in front of a random building, a short, squat thing that has a closed sign in its window and is clearly some kind of nightclub. He catches his breath with his hands on his knees, gasping and blinking back tears. He feels sick when he thinks about what he’s done; he fought back.  _ I’m really gonna get it tomorrow _ , he thinks before he remembers that  _ oh, today was the last day. I’m free. _

He laughs.  _ I’m free!,  _ and then he drops to the ground, sitting with his knees pulled to his chest and laugh-crying to an abandoned street. He’s sure he looks like a mess, his uniform messy from sitting in the dirt and his face surely red and streaked with tears, but he doesn’t care. From now on, he doesn’t have to deal with those kids and their fists. He doesn’t have to deal with the whispers. 

_ It’ll be better at UA, _ he tells himself.  _ It has to be. _

\--

A couple of nights later, he’s in his costume and he feels so  _ alive _ . The sounds of nighttime, of muffled music and dancing leaking through the walls of buildings, of flickering streetlights and quiet arguments, of crickets and cicadas hiding in the grass-- they sound like home to him now. He knows this part of town like the back of his hand, knows which bars usually have fights outside them and which alleyways people like to sell drugs in. He even knows which heroes patrol the area, and it isn’t many. He’s only seen Eraserhead that one time, and since then he’s seen a couple of sidekicks. He supposes the higher ranking heroes prefer to work in the daytime, when they can get media recognition. 

It’s a quieter night, as far as partying goes. He thinks it’s because it’s a Wednesday night, and most people who have jobs or school can’t be out too late during the weekdays. He’s also out a little later than normal; he’d overslept. It’s a cloudy night, making it darker than it should be, and the sky is an inky black mess of clouds above him. He wonders if it’ll rain. He listens for the sounds of thunder, but all he hears is a shout. He turns his head in the direction it came from, looking through his goggles for any signs of a fight, but he’s too far away. 

He moves carefully down the street, keeping his steps even with the beat of the music from the nearest nightclub. This is the best way to conceal the noise his footsteps make, he’s learned. 

Suddenly, from behind a parked truck with its lights on, two projectiles shoot past him, moving so quickly he can't even see what they are. Izuku immediately drops into a fighting stance, his hand pulling his knives from his belt. He flicks open the one that folds, having finally mastered the trick the other day, and he tucks the one he can use for punching into his left hand. He creeps around the truck slowly, walking sideways to keep his body facing where the threat is.

He sees a huge beast of a man, easily over six feet tall and covered in bristling spines each about two feet in length and made of thick, keratinous material that shines in the light from the headlights of the truck. He’s cornering four party goers, a man and three women, against a wall.  _ A hedgehog quirk? _ Izuku thinks, then cringes as the man fires two spines forward, pinning the man to the concrete wall behind him. The spines dig deep into the concrete, cracking it with their force.  _ Porcupine, _ his brain helpfully supplies as the man turns his angry glare to look at Izuku. 

Izuku remembers what he heard in one of his videos-  _ if your opponent is skilled in ranged combat, get close _ \- so he does, dashing forward and sliding into the porcupine man’s personal space. He slashes with the knife in his right hand but misses, just a few centimeters short.

The man growls and swings a fist at Izuku, and for all Izuku sees it coming, he can't dodge in time. The hit to his chest sends him stumbling back, and he barely has enough time to straighten back up before the man shoots a volley of three slick, dark brown spines at him. Izuku feels a rush of burning pain as they sink into him, one in his right thigh, one in his left calf, and the third at the bottom of his stomach, just above his left hip. He recognizes that he drops to the ground from the way his viewpoint gets lower, but all he can register is the white hot pain and the feeling of his insides grating on the spine embedded in his stomach when he gasps for air. He can’t feel either of his legs except for the blinding pain, but he does feel when the man kicks him right where the spine is lodged in his belly, knocking it deeper and making Izuku gag from pain, throwing up his mom’s cooking and sour acid all over the dirty ground. 

He tries to pull himself away, crawling on the ground with his gloves soaked through with his own vomit and blood, but he doesn’t get very far before his limbs stop responding to his requests. His hands grow weak, tingly, like they’re falling asleep, and Izuku registers that he feels very, very cold. He tries to sit up, tries to do anything, but his body doesn’t move except for a twitch. His vision is a swirling black, and he dry heaves, his stomach and throat spasming as he loses consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for vomiting and gore


	4. porcupine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku finishes middle school, gets killed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year!! i hope this chapter finds you all well <3 i had a ton of fun writing it !

He gasps for breath and stumbles mid-step when he comes back to himself, his body aching for just a moment from phantom pain. He stops in place, staring ahead of him blankly. He’s out already, in his costume with his hair dyed and pulled back, and he just died. This street is familiar to him, only a block from where he now knows a villain is waiting with four civilians and a quirk powerful enough to kill Izuku before he even got a hit in.

The thing is, as much as he’d planned to die over and over again if he needed to save people, it’s different when he’s just gone and done it. He has to sit down, wrapping his arms around his knees and drawing in shaky breaths. He can’t quite get his heart to settle because all he can think about is the sensation of the villain’s quills sinking into his flesh, cutting through muscle and organs. He swallows thickly and tries to push down the bile that rises in the back of his throat. This is his power. This is his quirk.  _ I have no right to be so upset by it _ .

Izuku digs his fingers into his shins, feeling the pressure and the dull pain through his jeans. He focuses on it, lets it ground him. He feels his breath slow, feels his heart rate become steady, and only then he releases his grip on himself. He’s still sitting on the ground, but he can think. He tilts his head back, looks up at the sky. The clouds drift lazily ahead, no urgency to them. He breathes, in and out. A single raindrop falls on his cheek, making his nose wrinkle and his eyes shut reflexively. 

Izuku pulls himself to his feet and swallows his fear, walking back toward where he knows the villain is.  _ Porcupine _ , he decides to call him, because it’s not like he’s going to ask the guy for his actual name. Izuku knows now that he’s not going to win if he approaches head on, but he thinks he might be able to sneak up on the man if he comes from the other side of the truck, where the headlights won’t illuminate him quite so much. Maybe if he can get the jump on the guy, if he can knock him out before he has the chance to shoot spines, he’ll be able to take Porcupine down before Porcupine kills him. 

He knows what to listen for this time as he approaches the truck, sneaking around the back side of it so he can avoid being seen. He hears the  _ thwack _ from Porcupine pins the man to the wall, then another series of thumps. He grits his teeth and prays that none of the people Porcupine has cornered are hurt as he skirts the back of the truck, looking up over the bed of it to see Porcupine’s back. It occurs to him that maybe trying to sneak up behind a villain whose entire back is covered in weapons may not be the best idea. 

Izuku takes another step, and he sees the four civilians from last time, except the man Porcupine had pinned to the wall last time has a trio of spines embedded in his throat, all clustered together in one terrible wound. Even from this distance, the amount of blood that’s spilled out from his body, coating his clothing and the ground below in a dark, sticky, red tells Izuku that he’s dead. Izuku feels a wave of nausea pass over him, remembering the way it felt when the spines suck into his own flesh, when he grew cold and shaky and died. He swallows, heavy in his throat, because now he  _ has  _ to die, because he isn’t going to let someone else die in his place. Their lives are worth more than his; after all, he has so  _ many _ of them. 

Izuku pulls out his knife and swallows. Just because he has to do this doesn’t mean it isn’t going to hurt. He debates trying to sneak closer, first, but then Porcupine flexes and a spine shoots out, just barely grazing the cheek of one of the women. She shrieks and steps back, presses herself against the wall. She and her friends are all wide-eyed and pale, huddled together and shaking. Izuku can’t wait if it means they’ll die. 

He’s throwing his knife at Porcupine before he can let himself think about it, rushing forward at the villain before he can even see if the knife hit or not. He hears a squelching noise as it embeds itself in Porcupine’s back, just between two spines, and Porcupine shouts in surprise, his back bristling up and the spines scratching Izuku’s arms. He doesn’t stop, though, tugging his punching knife out from his belt and burying it deep in Porcupine’s shoulder. Some part of him, as he tugs the knife out of the wound, wants Porcupine to run so he doesn’t have to die again, but he pushes down the thought. The stab wound oozes red blood, and Izuku goes in for another stab just as Porcupine’s hand wraps itself around his neck, pulling him away from the villain’s side and moving him in front of Porcupine. 

Izuku struggles, kicking his feet out and feeling satisfaction when his heel knocks into Porcupine’s stomach, but it doesn’t seem to even phase the villain. Izuku watches the rage flicker in his eyes before he slams Izuku to the ground, his shoulder and head knocking against the concrete, smearing in someone’s blood. Izuku isn’t sure if it’s the dead man’s, Porcupine’s, or his own.

He pushes himself up off of the ground, his head spinning and the light from the truck headlights suddenly seeming brighter and multicolored. He reaches a hand up to his temple and feels a knot already forming, red-hot and angry. Porcupine growls from above him and buries his foot in Izuku’s stomach, sending Izuku back onto his side on the ground, gasping for breath. The air he breathes in tastes like rotting blood. 

Izuku shuts his eyes and curls in on himself, praying for Porcupine to just kill him quickly this time, to stab him somewhere vital and get it over with. He feels another kick, this one to his shins where they’re protecting his stomach, then a burst of pain so strong he can’t tell where it came from. He’s dead in seconds, but it still hurts like a wildfire raging through his veins.

\--

The next time he wakes up, he doesn’t waste a moment. He starts running the second his eyes open, the concrete pounding under his feet as the city whizzing by. He has to find a hero, a  _ real _ hero who can actually fucking  _ save _ those people. He doesn’t have enough power to do anything here, not to save the civilians or defeat the villain. All he can do is die, and that doesn’t solve anything if it won’t save people. 

He knows,  _ knows _ he saw Burnin’ earlier that night, but to his frustration, he can't remember when he saw her or exactly where, and he turns down the wrong street over and over again, mistaking the warm lights of a nightclub and a bar and then a streetlamp for her fire. He feels his chest aching from the exertion, feels the muscles in his legs burn from running for so long, but it feels like nothing in comparison to being stabbed through. He finally catches her getting into a car, of all things, and he sees the look of surprise on her face when he rounds the corner, sweaty and exhausted and out of breath.

“Burning,” he gasps. “You need to c-come,” he takes in a breath, sees her step out of the car and back onto the asphalt, a confused look on her face. “There’s a villain, porcupine quirk, four civilians.” He can’t get any more out of her, but it seems to be enough because she nods and starts walking and he takes off running again even though his lungs try to tell him not to.

He hears her footsteps match his pace, sees the flickering light of her quirk illuminating the way as he runs, taking the shortest path to where he knows Porcupine is, but he knows from the sounds of two women screaming that he’s too late, even before he can see the truck. They round a corner and Burning passes him up as he freezes in horror. The man is dead, just like last time, his blood coating the wall. One of the women, a college aged girl with long blonde hair, is crumpled in a heap between the wall and the truck, her hair streaked with dark, dark blood and her arm pinned to the ground. There’s at least seven spines sticking out from her that Izuku can see, and he realizes with horror that she had tried to get away. He covers his mouth with a hand to stifle any noise he makes and turns, running from the scene. He doesn’t need to see if Burning wins to know that he has to start over. It’s too late. 

He stumbles to the nearest building with an external fire escape, the metal stairs climbing up the seven stories. There are lights on in some of the windows, but he doesn’t want to wait to find a better option. He has no idea how long until this becomes permanent, until the blood of that man and that poor woman is on his hands. He climbs the stairs two at a time, his breath fogging his goggles where it leaks out from his mask. The view from the top is horrible; he can see the fire from where Burning is fighting, can hear the shouts and screams. He looks down and swallows. At least this way, he’s dead before he can feel any kind of pain.

He shuts his eyes and dives off, head first.

\--

Izuku notes that he isn’t out of breath any more when he opens his eyes, and he makes use of that fact, turning on his heels and sprinting. Burning isn’t close enough, but that doesn’t mean nobody is. There  _ has  _ to be someone close enough, right? There has to be a way for him to save them. 

Izuku spots a familiar convenience store, the lights inside spilling out through the glass doors and windows, the open signs flashing blue and green. He runs right up to the door and opens it, practically flinging himself inside. The heat of the air is too hot with all the adrenaline rushing through him, and the cashier, and older man with a bald head, looks terrified. Izuku realizes he probably looks a little like a villain. 

“Call the cops,” he says, pointing to the phone. “Two blocks north of here, a villain is holding people hostage.” The man behind the counter nods quickly and all but rips the phone off the wall, dialing the emergency number into it. 

Izuku paces along the front of the counter as the man talks quietly into the receiver, too quietly for Izuku to hear. He sees an aisle of candy, an aisle of chips, an aisle of magazines. One has basic supplies like bottles of windshield washer fluid, duct tape, lighter fluid, and tool sets. Izuku sees the lighter fluid and the matches, thinks of Burning last time.  _ A fire quirk is so well suited, too _ , he thinks.  _ She wouldn’t have to worry about his spikes acting as armor _ .

“U-Um,” the cashier’s voice snaps Izuku out of his thoughts, and he turns to look at him. “They said they’d send someone. T-They’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Twenty minutes?” Izuku asks, staring at the man in horror. He doesn’t know how long exactly it took Burning to get there last time, but it was certainly less than  _ twenty minutes _ . He remembers the way the blonde woman was crumpled like a broken toy, the way the man’s blood spread across the ground like an oilslick on water. His mouth is suddenly very dry.

“Thank you,” he hears himself say, distantly. He turns and walks out the door, not really hearing when the cashier shouts after him. He walks, calmer than he feels, through the streets. He doesn’t even hear sirens, not even when he scales the fire escape from last time, not when he stands at the top. He stares, distantly, in the direction of where the villain is. 

He hears a scream, and he jumps.

\--

There’s already a plan in Izuku’s head when he wakes up. He starts back toward the convenience store, drawing his knife and jogging through the streets. He can’t be nice, can’t play by the rules if he wants to save these people. He isn’t a hero, and he doesn’t have a quirk that can help him fight. All he has is his wits and information.

He pushes open the door to the convenience store with this in mind, knowing that that older man will be scared of him from the beginning. He points the knife at the man and doesn’t bother to shape his expression; he’s wearing a mask after all. He tries not to sound terrified when he says. 

“Better call the cops,” he turns and grabs a bottle of the lighter fluid and a box of matches, stuffing the matches into a pouch on his belt and tucking the lighter fluid under one arm. “I’m robbing you.”

The man behind the counter takes a step back, sputtering, but Izuku doesn't want to stick around. He lowers the knife and turns to face the man again. 

“I’m about to set someone on fire, two blocks north of here,” he says through gritted teeth. “Tell the police to hurry. Burning is on patrol, so they should send her as well. She’s used to dealing with fire,” he says, turning and yanking the door open before the man can reply. He can hear the bell above the door ding cheerfully as he sprints out.

He folds his knife shut and shoves it in his pocket as he runs down the streets; he won’t need it for his plan. The trip to the truck and to the fight seems to take longer than normal, and Izuku pushes himself, his calves burning. He needs to start working out more on his own; he should be able to run faster.

He slows to a quick walk when he sees the truck and sneaks around the back, moving his shoes carefully along the ground like he did the second time. He listens, doesn’t hear any screams, just whimpers, and he prays that means nobody is dead yet. He came faster than the first time, even, so they should still be alive. 

As he rounds the truck, he sees Porcupine, backlit by his headlights and just as huge as ever. Izuku unscrews the cap on the jug of lighter fluid, a bright red container probably about one pint in volume. It’ll have to be enough. He steps as close as he dares to, then darts forward and dumps the bottle over Porcupine's hunched back. The air smells like kerosene, sharp and chemical, as the villain shouts in surprise and turns. 

Izuku barely dodges the open-palmed strike Porcupine sends at him, and he shoves his hand into his belt pocket, pulling out the box of matches. His hands shake as he rips open the box, backing away from Porcupine, who’s stalking toward him with anger in his eyes.

“Who the hell are you?” he growls, and Izuku strikes a match, the fire a bright golden beacon in the dark night. Izuku sees the fire light dance over Porcupine’s face, showing more of the man’s features than he’s ever gotten to see before. He’s ugly, middle aged and twisted up with such anger that it makes him look nothing but cruel. Izuku grits his teeth and steps towards him with the match. 

“I’m the one who’s going to stop you from killing those people,” he says, swiping at Porcupine with the match, the flame flickering as it rushes through the air. Porcupine flinches back, the match just barely missing a damp spine, dripping with yellow-tinted fluid that glitters, reflecting the light of the match. 

“I’d like to see you try, brat,” he says, stepping back and throwing a kick at Izuku. Izuku sees it coming and dodges, stepping back neatly.  _ It’s a lot easier to dodge when you’re not already injured _ , he thinks idly.

He realizes that he’s in range of the spines like this, and he slides forward and out of the way just as Porcupine fires three dark spines from his shoulder. Izuku notices, that like the past few times, he doesn’t throw a kick or punch at the same time, even though Izuku is close enough to do it. He wonders if Porcupine even  _ can  _ throw a hit while he’s firing.

He swipes the lit match at Porcupine and feels it contact a spine on the back of the man’s arm. Fear flares in the man’s eyes for the first time, and Izuku feels a rush of satisfaction as the man fires the flaming quill in a panic, the fiery thing shooting out into the night. Izuku thinks he might hear sirens, but he doesn’t let it distract him. He steps in, grabbing the man’s forearm while he’s mid-shot and holding the match just above the bare skin of his chest, where he’s glistening with the lighter fluid that drips down his skin. Porcupine freezes like a statue, his pupils tiny specks and and his heart beating so hard Izuku can feel his pulse in his arm, even through the gloves Izuku wears.

“Don’t move,” Izuku says, making eye contact with Porcupine even though he knows his goggles hide where he’s looking. “Or I’ll kill you.” 

Porcupine just stares at him, his throat bobbing as he swallows. Izuku watches a bead of sweat run down his neck. The flame of the match twitches, and Izuku sees the way Porcupine’s gaze darts over to it. He feels strange, like he’s someone else entirely, but he doesn’t have it in him to care. Two people would be dead by now if he wasn’t doing this. Two innocent people, who don’t get second chances like he does. He tightens his grip on Porcupine’s wrist. 

He’s sure, now, that he hears sirens. They’re loud, and he hears quick footsteps too. He doesn’t dare to turn his head, doesn’t dare to look away in case Porcupine tries something, but he hears a voice that he’d only heard screaming before.

“He saved us!” a female voice shouts, and from the corner of his eyes he can see a blur of blonde hair, pointing to him. “The guy with the spikes said he was gonna kill us, but he showed up out of nowhere.”

“Right!” Burning’s voice startles Izuku just a tiny bit, and he darts a quick glance over to see her only about ten feet from where Izuku holds Porcupine. He steps back, quickly moving to put distance between him and the villain. 

“H-He’s got lighter fluid on him,” Izuku says, cursing his stutter. “So, i-if he tries anything...” He swallows, watching as the pro hero looks at him and then Porcupine. 

“Okay,” she says, and Izuku sees the flash of red and blue police sirens, the shriek of them drowning out what Burning says next, but he supposes it doesn ‘t really matter. He needs to run.

He drops the match and steps on it, smothering it under his boot, then turns and sprints away, praying that they prioritize the villain over the vigilante. He knows what happens when you do this kind of thing and you’re not licensed. They stop you at best, treat you like a villain at worst. 

He runs through the night, not for the first time, but it feels different in this situation. The air in his lungs feels like a celebration, and he resists the urge to whoop and cheer as he skips down the streets of Musutafu. Sure, he’d died, but more importantly, those civilians hadn’t. As he enters his own neighborhood, the sounds of sirens distant and barely audible behind him, he lets himself slow to a walk. He feels the night breeze brushing against his sweaty skin, and he lets himself smile. 

_ That,  _ he thinks _ , is why I want to be a hero. _

\--

He isn’t even sore the next morning when he opens his eyes sleepily, light spilling through a gap in his curtains and falling on his face. It’s a strange feeling, to wake up and have it be in the warmth of his bed instead of on that street. He fumbles a hand on his side table until it finds his phone, which he tugs free of the charging cable and holds in front of his face.

Like usual, he opens his hero news app. He doesn’t have any friends to text, so it’s always been this and the quirk analysis and pro hero fan forums. The app is simple in theme, and it’s usually dominated by articles on All Might and the rest of the top ten, so he’s a little surprised to see that the top few articles all seem to be about someone he’s never even heard of. The first article, “Boy in Red Saves Four,” doesn’t ring any bells, neither does the second, “New Hero or New Villain? Masked Fighter Aids in Capture,” but it all suddenly makes horrible sense when he reads the third title, “Vigilante Threatens Murder to Attract Heroes, Results in Successful Rescue of Four.” Izuku clicks on one of them and reads through it with a sense of sickness building in his stomach.

The thing is, he never thought he’d get recognized as a vigilante. He’d always just assumed that he’d be a famous hero and his nighttime identity would be something only underground heroes and cops knew about, but this? He doesn’t remember to breathe for a second as he reads through the descriptions of himself. There’s no pictures of him, just of Burning and Porcupine (who actually is apparently known as Impaler. fitting.), but it’s still unnerving to read article after article after the suspected college student that robbed a store to save lives. The media seems unsure about his status, if he’s a villain getting vengeance or a new vigilante or even a new pro that avoided the limelight, but reading the speculation both eases his nerves and makes him feel sick. They think he’s older than he is for one, but they can tell he isn’t full grown. They think he has either an analysis quirk or one that would have made him invulnerable to the fire he threatened Porcupine/Impaler with. After all, why else would he risk that? He’d surely have burned up too if he’d lit the villain up at such close range. 

The worst part, he thinks, is that so many of them think he’s a villain. They cite the way he threatened the shopkeeper with a knife, the way he stole and the way he would have  _ killed _ the villain, not just captured him. They speculate that Izuku wanted to steal the other villain’s thunder, that he wanted to make a name for himself. That if he wanted to help, he would have been better off waiting for the pros to arrive.

That makes him feel nauseous with frustration, his eyes pricking with angry tears because they don’t  _ get it _ . He didn’t make an educated guess and get it right on the first try. He didn’t take the risky route for fun. He’d tried everything else, tried getting a hero and tried calling the cops and tried to handle it with knives and not stolen flames. 

He  _ knows _ he saved four people, and the majority of the articles agree, calling him a vigilante and not a villain, but it still makes his heart ache to see those few that insist on him being evil, being dangerous. It makes him want to curl up in a corner and die, makes him want to throw himself off of a building so his skull gets crushed into pieces on the sidewalk below. 

He settles for scratching at his arm as he reads, using the raw sensation of nails on skin to ground himself as he reads. He knows he should set his phone down or do something else, but it’s a sick fascination that keeps him reading. 

He thinks that next time, he’ll do better. He’ll save people and do it in a way that doesn’t leave people wondering; they’ll  _ know _ , without a shred of a doubt, that he’s a force for good. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: gratuitous violence and gore, minor self injury (izuku scratches his arms while stressed to ground himself)
> 
> i hope u enjoyed!!! next chapter may not be out tomorrow since a once daily update schedule is difficult with 4k+ word chapters, but it should be out within the next week. i know it doesn't seem like it, but we're close to the entrance exam which im really excited for


	5. foresight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku defeated the porcupine villain and saw himself in the news

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: it'll be longer before next chapter  
> also me: *writes a 6k word chapter in one day and posts it*
> 
> in my defense, school technically doesn't start for another three days

Izuku hopes it doesn’t look suspicious when he goes back to the store he bought the knives from the day after he beats Porcupine, with the articles all talking about him and describing him. He knows, rationally, that he looks nothing like his vigilante self, but knowing that doesn’t stop him from feeling anxious as he slips into the shop in the early afternoon, the sun bright and high in the sky. 

The same lady from last time is behind the counter, and he greets her with a shy wave when he walks him. She smiles brightly at him, pushing her glasses up on her nose and standing up from her stool.

“Hey, how are those knives working for you?” She asks, straightening her apron and walking out from behind the glass counter. 

“T-They’re great,” Izuku answers, then wonders if that’s a weird thing to say. Should he have said he hadn’t gotten to use them yet?

“Great!” The girl replies, flashing him a double thumbs up and a smile so wide it crinkles her eyes shut. “I’m Sumire Miura, by the way.”

“N-nice to meet you,” Izuku replies, blinking. “Izuku M-Midoriya...”

“Nice to meet you too, Midoriya!” Miura puts her hands on her hips and gives him an appraising look. “Now, what can I help you with today?”

Izuku swallows. “I need s-something loud. In case I’m in trouble and n-need to get people’s attention fast.” He picks at his cuticle as he talks, hoping it wouldn’t raise any red flags for him to be asking about this. He doesn’t want to get caught so early in his career as a vigilante, although he supposes he could kill himself and re-do this conversation if it goes poorly. 

“Hmm,” Miura tilts her head, thinking. “I bet you want something  _ really _ loud, right? The best thing we have for that is air horns, I think.” She turns, walking along the aisles, and Izuku scrambles to follow her. She leads him right past the knife aisle, stopping at an aisle filled with various cans of sprayable stuff. He sees spray paints, canned air, wheel lubricant... a lot of things, even some with labels in other languages. He wonders, not for the first time, who exactly the target audience of this store is. Teenage vigilantes, apparently.

He’s distracted from his thoughts by Miura holding out a white can with a red horn attached to the top. “Here!” She says, gesturing at a few other air horns on the shelf with her free hand. “We’ve only got the one brand, but I imagine they all work the same.”

“T-Thank you,” Izuku squeaks out, taking the offered air horn.  _ It matches my costume colors _ , he thinks distantly, then looks up at Miura.

“Anything else?” She asks, and Izuku can’t help but glance at her wrist, trying to see if the bruise is still there or if there are new ones. He can’t see anything under her long sleeved shirt, though. 

“Um, no,” he says, smiling. “J-Just this!”

His mom scolds him later when he tests the air horn in his room, but it’s worth it if it means he can get heroes to a scene more quickly.

\--

It’s a cool Tuesday morning the week before the written portion of the entrance exam, and Izuku’s in his room reading the news. The stories about him have died down, mostly, with only a couple of articles mentioning that he’d been spotted around town. He’s been more reluctant to go out as well, which has probably helped with getting him off of the media’s radar, so to speak. The time he’d normally have been out on the streets had been spent sleeping or studying these past few days, and he’s feeling much more confident for it.  _ It’s amazing how much easier it is to study when I’m not up all night _ , he thinks, laughing a little to himself. 

The trending news topic, though, makes his mood drop quicker than he thought possible. “Seven Year Old Girl Kidnapped Outside Family Home,” it reads. When he opens the article, he sees pictures, too and that’s the worst part of it. The girl is tiny, so small he wouldn’t have guessed she could be old enough to have a quirk, much less  _ seven years old _ . 

The picture at the top of the article is just a school photo of her, a shy looking kid with messy brown hair that’s cut in a bob just below her jaw. She has giant blue eyes and tanned skin, a tiny scar (or is it a freckle?) under her nose. Her smile takes up most of her face, and Izuku tries to remember that as he scrolls through the next couple of paragraphs to look at the next image.

It’s grainy, clearly a cell phone picture, but it shows that same girl wearing bright blue pajamas. Izuku can’t see her face, but her arm is gripped at the wrist, held above her head by a man who looks to be in his twenties, with pale green, shoulder-length hair pulled away from his face. He’s got a mask covering any of his features, the latex, skin tight kind you have to glue on, but Izuku can see the grimace on his face and the reflection of the camera flash in his eyes. He’s got one hand outstretched, pointing to the right of wherever the person taking the picture was, and there’s a halo of white light emanating from his palm. 

Izuku looks through the article and finds that the man is apparently a known criminal, a notorious kidnapper and robber with a teleportation quirk that works by making pairs of temporary portals. He’s wearing a suit in the picture, a well-filled black suit that shows a red tie at his chest, and the article confirms he’s thought to be a part of an organized crime syndicate. Frustratingly, if the authorities know anything about his group or their plans, they haven’t told the media. 

The article also notes the girl’s quirk, and the comment section below speculates that she must have been abducted for another reason since it’s not something desirable enough to get her kidnapped for that alone. She has a mild empathy quirk, one that lets her sense the emotions of people she’s in physical contact with. Reading it makes Izku wince because she’d  _ definitely _ have felt whatever her abductor was feeling when he took her, evading the police until he disappeared, according to the article. He hopes, stupidly, that she’d get rescued soon, then remembers what he’s  _ just _ read-- they don’t know her abductor’s name, base of operations, or affiliation. They don’t know anything. 

And then it occurs to him, the realization sinking into his bones like ice water dumped over his head. The article doesn’t say the address she was taken from or the route the villain took, but it  _ does _ show the picture, and Izuku recognizes that spot. It’s not part of his usual route for patrol, but it’s on his way home. It’s close, close enough that  _ maybe _ , maybe if he killed himself and got lucky enough to reset to the night before, he might be able to save her. He might be able to get information, at the very least. Might be able to help. 

He sets his phone down and gets out of bed like normal. Tugs on a pair of sweatpants over his boxers. Runs a hand through his hair. Walks to the bathroom and stares at his face in the mirror.

_ How do I want to do this? _ The thing about jumping off of buildings is that it’s very convenient when he’s already outside and not so much when he’s at home. He could just go for a walk, he supposes. His mom’s at work, so she won’t notice anything either way. 

He thinks that maybe, he needs to come up with a plan for how to quickly kill himself if he needs to reset himself. A backup plan, in a variety of circumstances. The thought pings a memory in the back of his head, when he’d read online that having a plan was a bad sign as far as being suicidal goes. He pushes the thought away. It doesn’t count, right? It’s not like he’s actually killing himself, not like it actually hurts him. 

He steps back into his room and kneels by his bed, pulling out the box he keeps his costume and vigilante gear in. His knees dig into the floor as he rifles through the box, pulling his utility belt out from where it rests at the very bottom. It looks odd in the morning light, brighter than it should. Izuku realizes that he only ever really sees it in dim light, normally. He pulls out the folding knife, knowing that the blade is still wicked sharp where it sits tucked into the handle. He can even see a hint of silver through gaps in the handle, and he holds it in his palm as he straightens up, nudging the box back under his bed with his foot. He feels the heat from his hand slowly warming the handle of the knife, and he walks back into the bathroom slower than he normally would. He turns on the hot water for the bathtub and reaches his free hand to plug the drain. The sound of the water is loud in his ears as he uses his bare foot to drop the lid of the toilet, then sits on the lid and watches the tub slowly fill. If he’s going to do this, he might as well enjoy it. 

_ It’s just practice _ , he justifies to himself, the thoughts seeming hollow even to him.  _ Tall buildings won’t always be an option. I should be able to do it this way, too _ . He doesn’t let himself consider the way a shiver runs up his spine when he thinks about that blade, wicked sharp and smooth and clean, digging into the soft flesh of his forearms. He doesn’t let himself think too hard about the fact that he’s dreamed about doing this, whispers of bloody bathtubs and sharp blades bouncing around in his dreams. Not nightmares, even. Izuku wonders what it says about him that he’s been looking forward to trying this, a little.

_ Well, _ he thinks.  _ Most people don’t get to do this without it killing them. It’s only natural that I’m curious _ . He sets the knife down carefully on the edge of the tub, then pulls off his clothes, shivering at the air on his bare skin. When he steps one foot in the tub, it’s a little too hot, but he ignores it, reaching to turn off the tap instead. He lowers himself into the water, hissing at the sting of it. He can see his skin turning red, just a little. It’s not burning him, not scalding him, just uncomfortable for a moment before he adjusts. When he does adjust, though, leaning back and resting his head on the tile behind him, the water lapping up around his ears, it feels nice. He feels his muscles relax at the heat, muscles he hadn’t had just a few months ago. It’s nice to see his progress, laid out in front of him.

Izuku figures there’s no sense in delaying. He might lose his nerve if he waits, as stupid as that is.  _ It’s just a little pain _ . It won’t kill him. When it’s over, he won’t even have a scar. 

He flicks the knife open, the clicking sound it makes echoing in the bathroom, mingling with the soft noises of the water rippling in the tub. The blade reflects light off of it, onto the water, and the water reflects it back up to the blade, making a mesmerizing pattern of silvery ripples. He watches it, for a moment, then twists the knife so it reflects the green of his eyes instead. He sees the glint of emerald, the dark smear that must be his eyelashes. He blinks. He stretches his left arm out in front of him, resting so the belly of his arm is just above the water and the back of it is just touching the surface. The heat rises in the form of steam around it. Izuku rests the blade of the knife on his arm, just below the crease where his wrist meets his hand, along the blue-green veins that show through the skin there. 

The metal is cool, and when he digs it into his skin, pulling down and  _ pressing _ , he can’t help but hiss in pain. The line he cuts in his forearm, deep and vertical and clean, fills quickly with blood, rivulets of it rolling off of his forearm and into the water, turning it a rusty red. It doesn’t hurt like getting impaled does, like getting explosions set off on your skin or getting kicked in the gut does, but it still makes Izuku a little light headed. He knows better than to wait, though, and he transfers the blade to his injured hand and repeats the motion on his right arm. This line is less even, less neat, but he manages to get deeper (probably because he’s shaking). He must have hit something important, because where the blood ran smoothly out of his left arm, it pulses out of his one in a thick, gushing stream. Izuku drops the knife, not entirely on purpose, and it sinks harmlessly through the water to land on his stomach. 

He tries to pick it back up, but his arms won’t listen to the command, and he just sighs, leaning back in the water and letting his arms sink under the now dark surface. He doesn’t feel cold like he did last time he bled out, just warm and hazy and calm. It’s intoxicating, like the burn of his muscles after a workout, that feeling of peace and exhaustion that soaks into his bones. He lets his eyes slide shut, and he thinks  _ this isn’t such a bad way to die after all _ .

\--

He wakes up in his bed, and his first thought is that he didn’t reset back far enough. He sits up, biting his lip in frustration, then blinks in the darkness and realizes it’s not morning. His phone is on his nightstand, and when he grabs it to check the time, the alarm he has set for his patrol goes off, buzzing in his hand. He shuts it off quickly, and takes a deep breath. He knows what he has to do. 

He tugs out that same box from under his bed and starts getting into costume as fast as he can. He curses his need for hair dye when it comes to that step, when he’s slicking the black gel into his green hair and pulling it back into his ponytail. His hair’s gotten longer since he started this, and it’s easier to pull back. He wipes his hands off with tissue and pulls the gloves on, ignoring the nasty stickiness still on his palms. He can wash his hands after he’s saved that girl’s life.

He’s still putting on his utility belt when he hops out the window, breaking into a sprint without bothering to shut it behind him. He doesn’t know the exact time the villain was seen, and he doesn’t want to waste any time. His quirk thus far has been predictable in that it’ll send him back to the same place, over and over again, until he’s well past what’s been killing him. He still has no idea how it picks  _ when  _ to send him back to initially, but he has started to suspect it has to do with the point in time he registers mentally as “safe.”  _ There’ll be time for analysis later _ , he thinks, skidding around the corner and biting his lip under his mask. 

He sees the villain just like in the papers, except the image isn’t grainy and the villain isn’t still. He whips his head around upon hearing Izuku slide around the corner and his mask doesn’t hide the grimace on his face. He’s clutching the kidnapped girl who looks  _ terrified _ , her face pained and eyes wide with horror. The villain holds up a glowing hand, and the ground falls out from under Izuku’s feet.

Izuku blinks, disoriented as he pops out of a glowing white portal, shooting feet first out of the side of a building about 100 feet from where he’d been. The villain is running up ahead, and Izuku curses mentally as he hops to his feet and starts to run after him. He watches the villain’s hands, sees the way they clearly take time to charge up. The light that’s gathering around his palms is dim, but quickly growing, and Izuku’s catching up to him now. The girl he’s dragging behind him is slowing him down.

Izuku realizes that the villain is running strangely, headed straight towards a brick wall and not along the road like would make sense, and it clicks as Izuku watches the villain lift  _ both _ hands. He points his right palm at the wall and a shimmering membrane of light flickers, swirling multicolored on the wall. Without slowing down, he twists and angles his other hand, a similar looking portal manifesting on a building wall much further down the street. Izuku hisses in frustration as the villain steps into one portal and out the other one. He’s behind now, the gap he’d been closing now wider than before, and it makes a lot of sense that nobody could catch this guy. This environment is perfect for him, with walls and buildings everywhere for him to throw his quirk at and propel himself forward.  _ He was selected for this _ , Izuku thinks.  _ Because he’s perfectly suited to make this work _ .

Izuku realizes that this means that he has very, very little chance of succeeding first try, but he’s going to try. He takes off toward the villain and the girl again, pulling out his air horn and holding one gloved finger over the button. He waits, watches as the villain’s palms glow bright and brighter, but Izuku doesn’t press the button until the villain raises his hands up to shoot. 

The air horn is loud, as loud as Izuku hoped, and even though he’s still a bit behind the villain, it makes him flinch just as his quirk fires. One of the portals hits the ground next to the villain, and the other seems to hit the metal scaffolding on a half-way constructed building, fizzling out and disappearing into nothingness. The portal on the ground flickers out and dies like a lightbulb that’s run out of power, and Izuku feels himself grinning under his mask because that means that the villain needs an even surface,  _ two _ even surfaces for his quirk to work. 

Izuku keeps running at the villain and the girl, even when the villain stops trying to get away and whips around to face Izuku instead. Izuku drops the air horn, fumbling with his belt and pulling out the knife he used to kill himself. Maybe it’s that thought that distracts him, makes him miss the moment the green-haired villain pulls out a pistol, but Izuku only registers the weapon when it’s pointed at him. The villain doesn’t hesitate, and Izuku is still running when he cocks the gun and shoots.

The bullet hits Izuku in the neck, and it only burns for a second before he hits the ground, dead.

\--

When Izuku wakes up for his next try, he formulates a plan while he puts on his costume, moving through the motions on muscle memory alone. He knows that to counteract a quirk like the villain’s, he’ll need to get the other man into an open space, somewhere he can’t reasonably use his quirk to escape. He also knows that the villain is armed, likely with more than just the one gun at that. Izuku also, thankfully, knows the direction he’s going and when he’ll be at each spot, at least for the brief distance he was in pursuit of the villain. 

_ It’s also telling that he didn’t try to take the girl hostage _ , Izuku thinks, and he wonders if that was just the villain’s style or if he thought Izuku wouldn’t care. Izuku doesn’t know, but he thinks the villain would have, if he was ever going to. Maybe. 

Izuku really should get a burner phone. He tugs on his gloves and snaps on his utility belt as he thinks about it, about how if he could anonymously contact the pros about this, he could get them this information perhaps even quicker than he will on foot. It’s not something that’ll help him right now, though, and Izuku hops out the window and takes off running, this time headed slightly more east than last time. He doesn’t want to catch the villain behind, because then he’ll just be chasing after him. No, he wants to force the villain to change direction, to get off course. And Izuku thinks he knows just how to do that.

It’s also convenient that this route takes him right past the store he’d robbed to help defeat Porcupine. Izuku doesn’t even bother going inside, just runs up to the glass door and bangs on it, squinting at the light, a stark contrast to the dim evening. He sees the shopkeeper, the same one as last time, pale from when he stands behind the counter, and Izuku holds his thumb and pinky to his ear in the universal sign for a phone call. The man doesn’t seem to have any reservations; he picks up the phone. Izuku doesn’t wait around to watch, instead taking off back down the road. Hopefully, knowing to expect him will help avoid him getting shot by cops. 

Izuku feels his mask move with his breath as he runs, the cool air of the night doing nothing to stop him from sweating as he runs across the streets. There’s a couple of people out, even though it’s so late, and he sees people stop and stare at him as he races through the city. 

He stops at a street corner that he knows is in the villain’s path, and he draws is knives, positioning himself in the northeast corner of the intersection, hopefully to block the villain from going either of those directions. If Izuku’s hunch is right, the villain will prioritize losing his tail than taking the fastest possible route. He’ll be willing to turn south instead of continuing to run eastward, and that’s how Izuku will get him. Just south of this intersection is a large parking lot, rimmed on all sides with hedges and not walls, hopefully not smooth enough for the villain’s quirk to work. If Izuku follows him, blocks the way he came from, he should be able to catch up before the villain gets out of the area. Izuku just has to hope that the heroes and pros that are surely on the villain’s trail get there before the villain can get very far. 

He hears the villain before he sees him, and Izuku watches him step out of a portal, still dragging that poor kid with him. She seems to be resisting, which is different from last time, but then again Izuku had seen her earlier on last time. She’s digging her heels into the ground despite only having on socks, and Izuku bites his lip in sympathy as he sees the villain tug at her sharply, dragging her across the rough ground. He can’t help but be glad, though. This will make things easier for him.

“Hey, portals!” Izuku shouts, and the villain’s head whips around to look at him, his green hair coming loose in thin mint-colored strands. “What, surprised to see someone here?” Izuku takes a step forward, swipes at the air with his pocket knife and raises his left fist with his punching knife, prepared to throw a hit if he needs to. 

“Who are you?” The villain asks, pulling the girl behind him-- and oh, that’s strange. Is he under orders to keep her  _ alive _ ? It makes sense, considering he abducted her and didn’t  _ murder  _ her.

“Why don’t you come over here and find out?” He says, trying to channel his inner Kacchan, but mentally crossing his fingers that this bluff will pan out. The villain glances over him, like he’s sizing him up, his hazel eyes flashing in the darkness, and sure enough, he turns and fires a portal on the nearest wall and another down the road, on a building to the south. Izuku grins, knowing it’s impossible to see with his mask and goggles, and starts to run after them. 

Right when he steps into the parking lot, he hears sirens and he thinks  _ yes! _ because it means he just needs to delay the villain long enough for the authorities to get here. The villain stops about twenty feet into the parking lot and whips around to face Izuku, his face twisted in frustration. 

“How the hell did you know where I was?!” He demands, once again shoving the girl behind him. She pulls back against his grip on her arm, and without even looking down at her he knees her in the stomach, sending her spluttering. She drops like a sack of brick, the villain’s arm the only thing holding her up. Izuku clenches his jaw and takes a step forward. The parking lot is mostly deserted, all empty, flat asphalt. The only cars are in the other end of it, close to a building that still has lights on. The streetlights that illuminate the area spill pools of yellow light onto the black ground. 

“Same way I know how your quirk works,” Izuku says, and then takes a gamble. “And how I know who you work for.” Izuku watches the man’s eyes widen, stretching his mask, as he steps back in clear fear. Izuku is just glad the man didn’t question the claim, that he believed such a bold lie. 

The villain reaches for his belt, but this time Izuku knows what to expect. He runs forward and just like he’s seen in self defense videos, he strikes the underside of the man’s wrist with the back of his hand before the man can get the gun all the way up. It’s a risky move, but as the gun clatters to the ground without firing, skidding across the asphalt and stopping a good ways away, Izuku’s glad he’s read up on how guns work. There’s no way the villain would be running around with a gun that was both loaded and had the safety off, not if he didn’t want to get his own foot shot by mistake. 

“Fuck!” The villain swears, and Izuku sees him point both hands at the ground. Izuku slides to the side, reaching for the air horn on his belt and presses the button without even taking it off his belt. Like last time, it startles the villain, but that wasn’t what Izuku was going for, anyway. The sounds of sirens, shrill and anxious in the night, have gotten closer, but Izuku figures the pros tend to be a few moments ahead of the cops in situations like these. Hopefully, close enough to hear the air horn if not the sounds of the fight. 

Izuku winces as the villain throws a neat kick at him, and he just barely blocks it with a raised arm. He stumbles a step back though, and he realizes with horror that he’s stepped into a portal. He curses mentally as he feels himself falling one way, then reversing directions and landing on his head on the ground just as the portal dissipates from where it was. The ground is hard and unyielding, and even though Izuku doesn’t think the total distance he fell could be more than his height, it still knocks him hard enough for his head to spin. He tries to ignore it as he gets to his feet, shaking his head to dispel the fuzzy sensation at the edges of his senses.

The villain hasn’t gotten far, thankfully, and Izuku charges after him, knives still in hand. He slashes quickly, then throws a punch that barely grazes the villain, just swishing harmlessly through his suit jacket. The slash, though cuts right through, red leaking from the villain’s shoulder and staining his white undershirt quickly. Izuku moves in for another hit, but the villain is expecting it, apparently. He gets Izuku in the jaw with a well timed elbow, and it sends Izuku right back to the ground. He blinks, stars swirling in his vision, then whips his head over to the villain just in time to see the man raise his hands, one pointed under Izuku and another on the ground, further away from the villain and the girl still half-collapsed behind him. Izuku braces himself, then blinks in surprise as the light on the villain’s palm disappears suddenly.

The villain’s face mirror’s Izuku’s own shock, and Izuku turns to look behind himself, at the entrance to the parking lot. He sees the swirling cloth first, then the golden goggles, the black hair floating in midair as if it was underwater. Izuku feels a wave of relief.  _ Eraserhead is here. _

“Step away from the kid,” Eraserhead says, his capture weapon coming out to surround the green eyed villain, who takes a step back, his eyes wide with fear. He glances behind him, at the girl, and drops her wrist. She shoots up, running away from the villain and at Izuku, her blue pajamas torn and filthy. She all but throws herself at Izuku, and Izuku drops the knives and raises his hands to catch her and she launches herself at him where he sits on the ground. 

Izuku holds her tight when he hears soft sobs, and, remembering her quirk, he tries to think as hard as he can that  _ it’s going to be okay _ , and that  _ you’re safe now, I've got you _ . He can’t tell if he works, but he looks up and watches as Eraserhead’s capture weapon wraps itself around the villain. The scarf catches the light of the street lamps in a way that makes Izuku dizzy and  _ oh,  _ he realizes,  _ I have a head injury _ . He blinks, trying to dispel the queasiness that he suddenly feels. He hears the sounds of tires scraping the ground and looks behind him to see a police motorcycle pulling into the parking lot and stopping about ten feet away. 

The cop hopes off of his bike and tugs off his helmet, dropping it to the ground and then jogging over to where Eraserhead is standing by the villain. The officer holds up a pair of quirk-suppressing handcuffs and says something to Eraserhead that Izuku can’t understand. Eraserhead nods, watching as the police officer snaps the handcuffs on the green haired villain, then retracting his capture weapon and wrapping it back around his neck. Eraser turns to look at Izuku where he and the kid are sitting, with Izuku’s butt on the ground and the girl on top of his legs, his hands resting on her back. Izuku tightens his grip on her, even though he knows Eraserhead is here to help her. He can’t help the fear that runs through him, considering Eraserhead is likely the only person who could kill him for real without using drugs or handcuffs.

“You again,” Eraserhead says, walking up to them and standing, looking down at Izuku through his goggles. They’re close enough that Izuku can see the man’s eyes through the gold bars, which is why he sees the exact moment his irises shift to a crimson red, even before his hair starts to lift. Izuku flinches, hard, and he squeezes his eyes shut like that’ll stop it if Eraser tries to hurt him. 

“Relax,” Eraserhead sighs, and Izuku doesn’t quite obey, but he does open his eyes. “I’m not going to arrest you for saving her life,” he says, gesturing to the girl still shaking in Izuku’s arms. “I do need you to help me take her back to the police station, though, seeing as she seems to like you.”

“S-Saved me,” the girl whispers, into his collarbone, and from the way Eraserhead tilts his head, Izuku knows he hears it too. “H-He saved me.”

Eraserhead sighs, and offers a hand. “Look. As much as you’re technically a criminal yourself, I don’t particularly feel like arresting you right now. We’ll go back to the station, you’ll answer a few questions about him,” Eraser jerks his other hand back, pointing a thumb at where the villain is being loaded into a police car. “and you can be on your way.”

Izuku hesitates, then nods, hating the way his surroundings get fuzzy when he does that. He wonders, briefly, if this is a bad idea, then takes the hand Eraserhead is offering him. 

\--

The ride back to the station is quiet, and Shouta has to keep glancing into the rearview mirror to be sure that the vigilante and the girl he’d rescued were still there. It’s impossible to get a read on the boy, with his reflective goggles and black mask covering everything except his eyebrows and thin strip of skin under his eyes, but Shouta can tell he’s looking out the window as they drive from the way his head is facing. 

There’s a dark bruise on the kid’s jaw, a red splotch that stretches under his mask and looks to have started swelling already. That, combined with the unsteady movements and the lack of a fight, make Shouta suspect that the vigilante’s got a concussion at the very least. He’d only gotten there right at the end of the fight, so there could be many more injuries that he doesn’t know about. He’ll have to try and talk the kid into at least getting checked out by medical staff, but something tells him it won’t work. 

He’s also starting to seriously doubt the age estimate the police had for him. The guy was short and skinny, but that alone could mean anything. The thing that gets Shouta is the way the kid’s face is clearly still soft with baby fat, the way he talks like he’s not used to seeing heroes up close. Shouta thinks he’s a high schooler at the  _ oldest _ , and the thought makes his head hurt. 

When the police car pulls to a stop in front of the station, the victim’s parents are already waiting outside, two women in their early forties clutching each other tight. They run at the car as soon as they spot their daughter, and the girl herself is opening the door and running into their arms before the officer that had been waiting with her parents can open the door for her. She’d still need a full medical evaluation, but from what Shouta heard on the scene, she’d be okay to go home after the report was filed. 

Shouta sighs. Time for his job. He glances at the officer who’d driven them here and nods at him. The young officer gives him a smile in return and slips out of the car, leaving Shouta and the teenage vigilante alone. 

“Hey,” Shouta says, “You awake?”

The kid turns to face him, and Shouta can tell he’s exhausted even with the disguise on. “Y-Yeah,” he answers, barely a whisper.

“If we take you into the police station proper, we’re legally required to arrest you,” Shouta explains. “So I’m going to ask you a few questions in the car, then I’ll drive you to a hospital.”

“I d-don’t need a hospital,” the kid replies, tugging at the collar of his long sleeved shirt where it sticks out above his hoodie. 

“You have a concussion,” Shouta says, then continues without missing a beat. “What’s your name?”

“U-Um, I’m not going to--” 

“Your vigilante name.” Shouta cuts him off, resisting the urge to smile.

“Oh,” the kid seems dumbfounded, oddly enough. “...you can call me Ace,” he replies eventually, voice still quiet but not stuttering, at least.

Shouta nods. “How did you know about the ongoing abduction?” Ace stares at him for a moment. At least, that’s what Shouta’s assuming is going on under the goggles. 

“It’s part of my q-quirk,” he replies, shifting in his seat. He’s still wearing his seatbelt, and his red hoodie stands out against the black upholstery. 

“Which is?” Shouta asks, because having more information on vigilantes is never a bad idea. They never seem to stay vigilantes for long, either getting caught or going rogue. 

“...Foresight.” Ace’s head tilts down, and Shouta thinks he’s staring at his lap. Interesting. It’s not analysis like some had been speculating.

“I see,” Shouta replies. “Do you have any information on the villain?”

“Um, he has a portal quirk,” the kid says, “but I’m sure you a-already knew that. He didn’t w-want the girl to get hurt, s-so his orders were probably to keep her alive, but he didn’t--” Ace clears his throat. “He  _ wouldn’t _ hesitate to shoot me, if he got the chance, so, um, the girl was what was important, n-not just having no casualties. He also seemed afraid w-when I told him I knew who he works for.”

Shouta arches an eyebrow at that. “Do you?”

Ace shakes his head, then winces, holding a hand to his swollen jaw. “No! I-I just bluffed, and I g-guess he bought it?”

“I see,” Shouta answers. “Well, is there anything else you know?”

“No...” the kid replies, seeming almost upset that he doesn’t.

“I can drive you to the hospital,” Shouta offers, but he knows even before Ace reaches down and clicks the seat belt release button that the answer will be no.

“I-I’m okay, thank you!” Ace says, fumbling with the door knob, then pushing the door open. “Um. F-For not arresting me.”

Shouta sighs, shaking his head as Ace steps out of the car and starts to  _ run _ away, like he thought Shouta would change his mind at that point. He hopes that he gets his head checked out. 

He has a feeling he’ll be seeing a lot more of him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: more graphic than usual suicide by wrist slitting, kidnapping
> 
> i hope you enjoyed!!!! im sorry it takes me so long to reply to comments, im really shy whoops. im excited to get into the meat of the story, which sounds silly to say when we're already 25k words into the fic, but trust me we'll get to UA and all that jazz in time!!


	6. entrance exam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku did a rescue and got a vigilante name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize in advance i feel like this is a mess
> 
> also! i realized that in canon they don't graduate middle school until after they get the results, but i already wrote the last day in this fic... whoops! sorry about that mistake, it shouldn't do too much to affect the story long term though

When Izuku wakes up the next morning, it’s to his mom’s hands gently shaking his shoulder. He cracks one eye open, confused to see her hovering over him, worried.  _ Doesn’t she have work? _

“Izuku?” She says softly, and she sounds so  _ worried _ . Izuku sits up at that, only to immediately regret it as his bedroom starts to spin and twist around him. He’s overwhelmed with a wave of nausea, and the only warning he manages to give his mom is a choking noise before he’s leaning over the side of his bed and throwing up on the floor. Thankfully, it’s mostly water and his mom manages to jump back up in time, but it still leaves his throat feeling raw and his head pounding. Well. His head had kind of been pounding since last night, since he came back from the police station and collapsed into bed without even bothering to change. 

... Wait. Izuku glances down at himself, and his mouth drops open in horror when he realizes that, yup, he’s still in his costume, maroon hoodie and skin tight black shirt and all. At least he had the presence of mind to take off the utility belt full of knives before throwing himself into bed, and he can see it along with his goggles and mask laid out neatly on his desk which.... He definitely had not done last night. He doesn’t really remember, to be honest, but he’s pretty sure he just threw them on the floor. 

“Izuku,” his mom tries again, and when he looks up at her, her smile is strained. 

“M-Mom,” he says, and  _ ow _ his jaw hurts. He reaches a hand up and feels the swollen, hot bruise. 

“What happened, baby?” She asks, her voice cracking, and Izuku swallows because his mom is many things but stupid is not one of them. He’s not going to get away with brushing this off, not when...

“Mom,” he says, reaching back to run a hand through his hair and grimacing when he can feel the dye still in it. “Um. Have you been watching the news lately?”

She nods, then sighs, reaching up her hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. Her brow twitches.

“Izuku. Are you implying,” she takes a deep breath, “that  _ you’re _ Ace?”

Izuku is confused for just a second, then remembers the name he gave to Eraserhead last night. “Um. Maybe?” He hopes his mom will think it’s a joke, even though there’s like zero chance of that happening.

“Izuku!” She says, wrapping her arms around him so suddenly it jostles his sore jaw, but he just hugs her back, surprised. “God, you could have  _ died _ and I wouldn’t have even known where you were!” 

_ That’s what she’s mad about? _ He thinks distantly. He can’t die, but... She doesn’t know that. 

“I’m sorry, mom.” He says instead of protesting, sinking into her hug and shutting his eyes. He doesn’t know why exactly his eyes are wet with tears, but some part of him recognizes how inevitable this was. He lives with her, lives  _ alone _ with his mom who he’s so so close to. How could she not find out? 

He buries his face in her shoulder, ignoring the pain it sends shooting through his jaw and up into his temples. “I didn’t want to worry you,” he says, voice muffled by her sweater. He knows he’s getting hair dye and tears and probably even vomit all over her, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

“Oh, Izuku,” she says. “You can tell me anything or nothing and I’m still going to worry. That’s my job.” She squeezes him. “But I’d rather you tell me about stuff like this.” Izuku hears a sniffle in her voice. “I was so scared when I came in to check on you and saw that horrible bruise on your face.”

Izuku nods into her shirt. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“It’s okay, baby,” she replies.

She stays home from work that day, brings him soup and helps him wash the dye out of his hair. He manages to talk her out of going to the doctor for his obvious concussion, but he can’t do anything to stop her from keeping him in bed, bringing him his notes and reading them out to him so he won’t have to read and strain his eyes but can still study. She helps him put on clean, soft pajamas and washes his costume carefully, folding it and setting it on top of his dresser when it’s dry. 

He finds himself regretting having hidden it from her at all. 

\--

The next time he goes on patrol, it’s almost a week later. His mom hadn’t wanted him going out until his concussion was fully healed, but she relented when his head stopped aching and he stopped getting dizzy when standing up. She’d given him a little first aid kit to attach to his utility belt, too, which was nice. Izuku can’t imagine using it on himself, but it’ll be nice to have if he has to rescue someone.

This patrol is different from the others because people keep stopping and calling out to him. The first time it happens, he’s just walking along the sidewalk, hands in his hoodie pockets, enjoying the cool night breeze on his face, when he hears a voice call out to him.

“Hey, is that Ace?” Izuku turns to look and sees a scruffy looking man with a yellow beanie on. “Dude, I saw you on the news. You’re totally awesome!” He punches the air with a fist. “You totally saved that little kid!”

Izuku feels his face heat up, and he splutters for a moment before choking out, “T-Thank you!” His voice comes out as a squeak, and the man chuckles, grinning.

“I knew they said you were a kid but it’s hard to believe! Have a nice night, Ace!” He waves, turning and continuing to walk down the sidewalk like he had been before. Izuku stares after him. 

After that, he’s a little less surprised when he hears people whispering his vigilante name and calling out to him in admiration. He guesses that despite no media being there when he fought the portal dude, his description in online articles got around well enough that people recognized him. At least some of the attention had to be because this area is where he was known to patrol, of course; it’s a local story. He doesn’t think it’s likely people would recognize him in another city or even another part of Musutafu. 

He’s crossing the street when he sees a girl across the street that lights up like it’s Christmas when she sees him. He grits his teeth and finishes crossing the street; he can’t stop traffic, even if there aren’t many cars to stop in the first place. Thankfully, she doesn’t seem interested in asking him a bunch of questions or taking pictures of him (that was the worst; he didn’t want some random phone picture to end up outing him). Instead, she held out a small piece of paper to him. 

“Um, hi, I don’t know if you remember me?” She’s blushing. “But you saved me a couple months ago and I, um, could I have your autograph?”

Izuku blinks in surprise, because he recognizes her. She was that girl from so many nights ago, the one with the biting quirk who’d been attacked by three guys in an alleyway. That was the night he’d met Eraserhead for the first time. It’s surreal, seeing someone he’d saved again, smiling and safe instead of terrified with someone else’s blood on her mouth.  _ She’s probably older than me _ , Izuku notes faintly as he nods, taking the piece of paper. It’s a sheet of notebook paper. 

“Um, who should I make it out to?” He asks, sheepishly. “I remember you, but I never got a name...”

“Oh!” She smiles. “Um, just Hina is fine!” 

“Do you have a pen?” Izuku asks, suddenly realizing he has nothing to sign it with. He can feel his face burning with embarrassment, and he hopes it doesn’t show from under his mask. 

“Y-Yes!” she says, reaching into her bag, a bright yellow tote, and pulling one out. She holds it out to him, and when he takes it, their fingers brush and she turns bright red.

“Sorry, I know this is embarrassing, you’re just like, my favorite hero,” she says, tugging on her hair while Izuku signs his vigilante name. “I mean, I know you’re not  _ technically  _ a hero, but you’re so cool! And you don’t have a combat quirk either so it’s even more impressive! And you were the only one who came and helped me, so... you’re my favorite!”

Izuku passes the pen and the note back to her, flushing bright red. “T-Thank you, Hina” he says, giving her a slight bow. “I have to, um.” He waves a hand in the general direction he’d been going. 

“Of course!” She jumps out of the way. “Good luck, Ace!”

He nods to her and, after a moment, gives her a thumbs up, then starts walking along the street. He manages to keep it together long enough to duck into an alleyway, where he has to sit on the ground and bury his burning hot face in his hands. He has fans. He has fans who are cute girls. He has  _ fans _ who are  _ cute girls _ and want his  _ autograph _ because he’s their  _ favorite hero _ .

He thinks he’s going to die from being too flustered. 

\--

“Izuku?” his mom asks one night while chopping carrots, her knife moving rhythmically.

“Yeah?” He replies, looking up from his notebook where he was finishing his revised analysis page on Eraserhead. 

“Why Ace? I’ve been wondering why you picked that name,” She asks, picking up the cutting board and using the knife to dump the sliced carrots into a pot of bubbling soup.

“Oh,” Izuku replies, shrugging. “That was kind of a spur of the moment decision, really. Eraserhead asked for my vigilante name, and I didn’t have one yet, so...”

“Is Eraserhead the one who can cancel quirks?” His mom asks, turning to look at him, leaning on the counter. 

“Yeah!” Izuku says, smiling. “He’s really cool. Honestly, I was going to say Deku at first, just because it’s the only nickname I’ve had?” He sees his mom’s mouth twitch, and he knows she doesn’t like that his only nickname is an insult. “But then I thought that it kind of sounded like the English word for a deck of cards, you know? And the winning card is an Ace, and cards are black and red like my costume, so...”

His mom smiles, then shakes her head. “That’s genius, Izuku, really. Here I’d thought it must have been the name of some hero I hadn’t heard of!”

Izuku feels his face heat up. “You really think so? That it’s genius?”

“Of course!” Inko beams. “You know,” She says, putting a hand on her face thoughtfully. “I could make some card-related patches to sew onto your costume!”

“Really?” He asks, his grin so wide it hurts the corner of his mouth.

\--

Izuku sits through the description of the practical portion of the exam with gritted teeth. He gets scolded for mumbling, but it doesn’t do much except worsen the anxiety already buzzing under his skin. He knew that it would be difficult, but this? He doesn’t know how he’s going to get through it. 

The written portion has been easy enough, but he knows he didn’t get 100%, and even if he did, bombing the practical is a sure way to guarantee he won’t get in. There are only 36 spots for non-recommendation students, after all, and he’s sure at least 36 students will do well enough on the practical to make up for Izuku doing better than them in the written portion. If he did better than them, which he probably didn’t. His chest feels tight thinking about it, so he shakes the thought away and tries to focus on what he’s doing. 

When he gets to the battle center, he can see the way the others are talking about him. The tall, blue haired boy with the thick calves who called him out during the presentation is bad enough, but the other guys whispering? He tries his best to ignore their whispers, and he turns to see the girl who stopped him from tripping on the way to the exam. Her short brown hair is hiding her face from him as he approaches, hands clenched at his sides to give him something to focus on other than his nerves.

A heavy hand comes down on his shoulder, and to his credit, he doesn’t flinch as badly as he would have before his time on the streets. He still jumps though, and  _ squeaks _ , a little embarrassing noise in his throat. When he turns and sees blue-hair, he almost starts to tear up. 

“What are you doing?” the kid asks, towering over Izuku despite the fact that they’re surely the same age. “Can’t you see she’s trying to focus?”

“R-Right...” Izuku answers, dropping his gaze down and to the side. His face burns with hot shame, and he curses himself for assuming that he’d be any different with social interactions now. He’d  _ thought _ he’d gotten better, what with his confidence fighting in his costume, but it doesn’t seem to have transferred over to his daily life. He still feels that familiar flutter of his heart and squeezing of his lungs when someone talks to him, that dread that they’re going to hit him or yell. The other guy drops his hand and goes back to ignoring Izuku though, so he supposes he won’t have to deal with getting into a fight right now. 

He starts when Present Mic starts to announce again.

“Alright, the exam starts now!” He pauses, and Izuku wonders if he’s watching the shocked look on their faces. “There aren’t any countdowns in the hero world!”

Izuku freezes, staring at the model streets that stretch out before him, and even though he can hear everyone around him running and moving, he doesn’t take a step. He finds that, even with all of his training and fighting and studying, he doesn’t know what to do here. He doesn’t know how to find a robot or how to take it down. It’s not like the streets at night; here, it’s loud on all sides, the sounds of fighting surrounding him. 

He turns on his heels when he hears the screech of metal behind him, and he watches as a blond boy with violet eyes shoots a two pointer down with a laser from his stomach. Izuku swallows, taking a step back, then starts to jog in a random direction. Somehow, he’d thought the exam would be something else. Something where knowledge or wits would be enough. As his shoes slap against the concrete, too clean to be like that of the actual city, he’s hit with a wave of sickening despair. All he wants to do is fucking _ kill himself _ , get a restart on this whole day. He can’t, though, not here. There’s cameras everywhere, surely. They wouldn’t let anyone die at the exam. 

He hears a creaking, crushing sound, and he rushes towards it. His shoes skid on loose rubble as he turns the corner, only to watch the blue-haired guy crush a robot with a neatly timed kick. Izuku hisses in frustration, whipping around and running the other direction. He just has to get as much information as he can this time and pray that he resets before the start of the exam next time. 

He starts by running toward the boundary of the exam area, stopping at the tall concrete wall, and turning to run along it. If he gets a good mental map of the city, he’ll have a better idea of where to go to defeat the robots. Or so he hopes. He can hear the sounds of fighting, but there don’t seem to be many students around the edge like this, and he turns when he reaches the corner of the area, almost smacking directly into the body of a one-pointer. He hisses, skidding back and catching himself on the wall, barely avoiding losing his balance. The robot, all sharp grey metal, turns its head to look at him.

“Target acquired,” it says, no inflection in its voice, then it raises a metal arm and slams it down in a messy swipe that misses Izuku by... a lot. Izuku realizes, then, that he might actually have a chance if he fights these things. He reaches his hand for his utility belt and hisses in frustration to find nothing. Of course, he hadn’t brought it; he’s supposed to be an ordinary middle school kid right now. 

Izuku hops out of the way of another swipe, then ducks forward, underneath the robot’s chin. He thrusts a palm upward, the meat of his hand striking the metal and pushing the robot’s head up a little ways. It jerks, a metallic noise, and Izuku slides back, shaking out his hand. The metal is hard and unyielding, and Izuku almost misses punching people. Almost.

The robot turns like it’s going to try and hit him again, but Izuku meets its swipe with a wide kick, and to his surprise, it completely knocks the leg of the robot off. He blinks, then remembers these are supposed to be easy; that’s why they’re one point. He grins, then aims another kick at the robot’s head, this time not trying to be cautious of its limbs. Sure enough, the head pops off and lands on the nearby ground with a clang, and the robot stops, stiff and frozen in place.

“One point...” Izuku mutters, then takes off running around the perimeter again. He knows better than to think one point is enough, but it’s still  _ something _ , and Izuku feels infinitely better for it. 

“Four minutes remaining!” Present Mic’s voice calls, and Izuku winces, picking up his pace. He’ll have to find something tall to jump off of right after, for the best chance of it resetting him far enough back, but he should still use these four minutes to do... something. 

He hears a crash, something louder and heavier than the other robots, and he whips around to see what has to be a zero pointer, its head poking up from where it stands in the center of the mock city. Izuk swallows, then shakes his head and runs toward it. The perimeter can wait; he needs information on the zero pointers as well, if he wants to be able to successfully avoid them next time. 

A few other kids run past him, moving in the opposite direction. He figures that nobody wants to get slowed down by the obstacle, and Izuku would be doing the same thing under normal circumstances. Instead, he runs, skirting around the side of a broken robot and racing toward the zero pointer, the huge robot that towers over the buildings.

He hears her before he sees her, just a tiny whimper that barely reaches his ears. It’s probably only because the other kids had destroyed so many of the lower level robots that he hears it in the first place, and he zeroes in on the source of the sound, the girl with the gravity quirk, trapped under a huge piece of rubble and staring up at him, her face flushed and sweaty. Izuku doesn’t even think; he runs forward, a hand extended already. He can see the zero pointer swinging an arm down at him to attack, the movement clear enough even in his peripheral vision, but he doesn’t care. He’ll save her even if it kills him.

Except he doesn’t get there in time. The robot hits him first, a giant sweeping strike that pulls him up off his feet and tosses him like a toy into the side of one of the buildings, almost two stories off the ground. He gasps as the breath is knocked out of him, his vision whiting out for a moment with the burst of pain in his back. He feels himself sliding down the building, then feels his legs crumple when he hits the ground, watching himself on all fours and shaking in place.

He’s concussed, for sure, because he doesn’t remember the exam ending or being taken to the infirmary. Things start to clear up when Recovery Girl gives him a healing kiss, but his mind stays too blurred to be healthy. He thanks her for her help and walks out of the infirmary and the campus, straight for the fire escape he knows is tall enough for the jump to kill him. He climbs it and jumps off, even though it’s broad daylight and someone could see him. He doesn’t care; he just needs another try.

\--

“Can’t you see she’s trying to focus?” blue-hair-kid snaps at him, and Izuku just blinks in response, trying to reorient himself. He must be outside the battle center, right before the exam starts. It’s pretty much ideal, since he can start with the full time of the test.

“Are you... alright?” Blue hair folds his arms over his chest. “You’re muttering again.” Izuku looks up at him, sees he’s raised one eyebrow in a look of... disapproving concern?

“Um,” Izuku replies eloquently, shaking his head. “I’m okay! I just mumble when I think,” he replies, and the blue haired kid just sighs. 

Present Mic’s voice covers whatever he says in response. “Alright, the exam starts now!” Izuku doesn’t hesitate this time; he starts sprints off toward where he remembers a one-pointer even before the other kids start moving. He thinks he hears somebody shouting after him, but he ignores it, instead spinning around to kick the one pointer’s head right off of its body. He bites back the urge to grin stupidly, instead taking off toward the one pointer he found at the perimeter last time. 

He knows he’s got about six minutes until they spawn in the zero pointer, so he can spend the first five or so collecting points, then he’ll need to go and try to save the girl with the gravity quirk and the nice brown eyes. He knows he doesn’t  _ have  _ to, it’s just an exam, they wouldn’t let her get hurt, but-- he wants to. 

The minutes fly by, his breath coming quick as he takes down a second and third one-pointer. He’s running back for the center already when Present Mic announces the time, and the crash of the zero-pointer entering the arena doesn’t startle him this time. He runs, cool and collected toward the center. He feels like a hero. 

And then he sees the rock collapse on the girl and he knows what he has to do. He runs forward, towards her with a hand outstretched. He skids to a stop in front of her and she takes his hand, her face pained and her breath coming out as a wheezing gasp. He tugs, feeling her muscles tense as she tries to use the motion to pull herself free, but it doesn’t work. He grimaces. 

“Hold on,” he says, and he skirts around behind her, to where the rock is pinning her down. He kneels to get a better look and  _ oh _ , her left leg is completed pinned. It doesn’t look crushed, but....

He tries to lift the stone, but when he does, the rocks surrounding her rumble worryingly and it doesn’t really budge more than an inch or two. 

“Is it working?” The girl asks, and he glances over to see her craning her neck back to watch. He bites his lip.

“Um. I don’t think so,” he replies, and she frowns. 

“I can try to use my quirk?” She says, reaching a hand back, struggling, but it doesn’t quite reach the rock on her legs. She groans, stretching, and Izuku hears something loud above them. He looks up just in time to see the zero pointer about to smash into them, and instinctively, he closes his eyes, waiting to wake up. 

Except, after a moment, when he opens his eyes, the zero pointer is frozen inches from his face, and Present Mic is announcing the end of the test. Izuku is still staring at the zero pointer. It occurs to him that he only has three points. 

“Are you okay?” The girl asks, even though she’s still under the rubble. He sees a number of smaller bots, clearly some kind of helpers to get the girl out from under the rubble.

“Yeah,” he answers, and he doesn’t know what kind of look he has on his face, but she frowns. “I’m fine.”

He walks right out of the test, and they let him go because he’s uninjured. He walks to Aldera Middle School, this time, instead of a random fire escape. He jumps off of it and wonders if he should even bother trying next time.

\--

He opens his eyes just in time for that kid to say, “Can’t you see she’s trying to focus?” Izuku turns to him, annoyed all of a sudden. He wants this kid to shut  _ up _ and let him have a moment. 

“What’s your name?” He asks instead of snapping like he wants to, makes himself take a deep breath. 

The kid blinks. “Tenya Iida.” 

“Izuku Midoriya,” Izuku replies to be polite. He turns to look into the city, takes a deep breath. The second the Present Mic starts speaking, Izuku takes off. 

The first few minutes of the test are a blur. He knows he takes down the same three one-pointers as last time, but he doesn’t remember getting the bruise on the outside of his arm, and he doesn’t know if he took down the three-pointer to his left or if someone just left its body near him. He suddenly slips back into focus like waking up after sleeping or taking a breath after being underwater, and it’s a disconcerting feeling. He hasn’t ever lost time like that, not before, and he doesn’t know how to feel about it. 

_ I don’t have time to worry about my mental state _ , he thinks as he hears Mic make the four minute announcement. He’s already pretty close to the center, but this time, he stops at the crumbled body of a two-pointer before running over to the girl. He’d watched Iida take this one down the first time through, and as he picks up a long piece of metal, about the length of one of his legs and thick enough to be sturdy but thin enough for him to use it like a crowbar. He hopes this works, because he isn’t repeating the test again because the test isn’t  _ fair _ . He feels bitterness rise in his chest, hot and stifling as he runs to the piles of rubble that just fell. 

The girl sees him coming, and he shouts at her. “What’s your name?” He takes a breath. “I’m going to get you out of there!”

“Ochako Uraraka!” She replies. “And that would be really nice!” He grins at that, sliding to a stop in front of the rubble and shoving the end of the metal underneath it. 

“I’m gonna try to lift the rock up,” he says, pushing it deeper under the stone. “When you can reach it,” he grunts, starting to move the rubble. “Use your quirk on it.” His voice is strained and he has to squeeze his eyes shut, pushing down on the makeshift lever with all of his body weight. He can hear the zero-pointer above them, but he doesn’t open his eyes because he knows it’ll distract him.

Suddenly, the weight of the rock disappears and he trips forward, stumbling. “Got it!” Uraraka shouts, and he opens his eyes just in time to see her catching him, stopping him from faceplanting in the ground. “Second time I got you,” she says, grinning, and he returns the smile. 

“Let’s get out of here!” She says, tugging him forward and running away from the zero-pointer. Izuku can tell from the way she’s running that her ankle hurts, and he bites his lip, then tugs her down a narrow alleyway. 

“Your ankle is hurt,” he shouts over the noise of the zero-pointer. “The test is about to end, so it’ll stop chasing us soon anyway.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the only thing he brought from his utility belt-- the first aid kit his mom gave him. 

“Oh!” She says, her eyes widening. “You’re so smart! I didn’t even think to bring a medical kit!”

Izuku feels his face heat up as he gets out an ace bandage. “I-It’s nothing special, r-really...” he says, wrapping her ankle up carefully, the way his mom showed him to.

“The test is over!” Present Mic shouts, and Izuku sighs, biting his lip and finishing the wrap of her ankle.

“I only got 28 points,” she says, sighing. “I don’t know if that’s enough to get in...”

“D-Don’t worry,” Izuku says. “You did a lot better than me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: vomiting
> 
> sorry for the lower quality on this chapter... i write this fic (and all of my fics, really) to vent and to give myself comfort, which is really nice and works as a coping mechanism, but today was kind of a rough day and i had trouble focusing on the writing for very long. at least i feel better with it written!
> 
> also im a sucker for inko she's best mom


	7. quirk assessment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku takes the entrance exam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry this is shorter than usual! i wrote a realllllly long oneshot earlier and my writing juice is all out :(
> 
> the next update may not be tomorrow either :( i have classes and work starting tomorrow, and it's the day of a big deadline for me, so the update may be late! im sorry in advance!

The week after the exam passes by in a blur. Izuku knows that his mom is worried about him, can tell from the way she hovers and the way she keeps baking sweets, but he doesn’t have it in him to reassure her. The thing is, he knows that he’s failed, and him telling her that he knows and having her reply with optimism, like...

“Oh, Izuku, I’m sure you did better than you think!” Her face stretches in a grin, and Izuku finds himself mirroring it.

“It’s okay, mom,” He nudges the rice with his chopstick but doesn’t pick any up.

...it kills him inside. He doesn’t think he can take it, so when she bursts into his room, her eyes wide and face flushed, he’s already dreading whatever attempt to cheer him up she has next.

“Izuku, it’s here!” she says instead, her voice barely above a whisper but so choked with excitement and Izuku feels like she’s shouting at him. “The letter from UA!”

Izuku swallows, reaching out his hand and taking it from her when she offers it to him. It’s heavy, heavier than a rejection letter should be, but Izuku doesn’t get his hopes up. He’d thought about it for a long time, and even if points weren’t the only thing they were being evaluated on, there’s still the fact that all he did was run around and save someone who wasn’t in any real danger. That, and the fact that he’s legally quirkless,  _ functionally _ quirkless too, the fact that his application said “Not applicable” under the section for quirk powers and title. His legal registration has a code on it, something that he wouldn’t even know if he wasn’t the one it was describing. It says, in typed print, “TJN;AQ.” Toe joint negative; assumed quirkless. It’s the code for people, like him, who are functionally useless even though they  _ should _ , by all of the rules, have a quirk. They got unlucky, got one that was so tiny or so hard to activate that it may as well not exist. Or they’re just quirkless despite their feet. Science doesn’t seem to be sure.

Izuku does have a quirk, after all, but that’s beside the point because  _ legally _ he does not. He stares at the thick paper of the envelope, the thick legal-type paper that means he couldn’t see inside of the letter even if he tried.

“...Izuku?” His mom says, and he looks up to see her worried face. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

Izuku bites his lip, looks back down at the letter. “Could I... Could I do it alone?” he asks, voice soft. His mom must hear him, because she hums in response and he hears his door click shut.

He takes a deep breath, then rips the letter open, flinching back when a heavy metal disc falls onto his desk with a clatter. He blinks, and thinks  _ a holograph projector? _ just as it starts to project.

He feels his jaw drop when he sees that it’s  _ All Might _ announcing the results, and even though he’s been... less crazy about the guy lately... he’s still a little starstruck to see him in a personalized message like this. So starstruck, in fact, that he misses the first few seconds of the tapes. He gives himself a shake and leans forward, gluing his eyes to the project just as All Might points at him. 

“So, young Midoriya, you received an impressive score on the written exam, and five battle points on the practical exam,” All Might is smiling, even though Izuku is so nervous he’s shaking. “Normally, of course, this would be insufficient to get into UA, however....” 

The screen shifts, and Izuku finds himself biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. It shows Uraraka, on the day of the exam judging by her outfit, looking nervous as she approaches Present Mic. 

“Um, Present Mic?” She presses her index fingers together, looking at the ground.

“Yes, how can I help you, little listener?” Present Mic replies, and Izuku knows it’s too loud from the way Uraraka jumps a little. She looks at the pro hero. 

“Um, do you know Midoriya? He, um, he has curly green hair,” she gestures above her head, “and is kinda plain looking? He was one of the kids in my group.”

Present Mic nods and says. “I’m familiar, yes!”

“I was wondering if I could... give him some of my points?” She looks at the ground, shuffling her feet. “It’s just... he helped me out, even though he didn’t have much time left, and he even wrapped my ankle for me!” She points at the ankle, which must have been healed since the wrapping was gone. “I don’t know how many points he has, but he said he had less than me? And I just wanted to see if I could maybe help him, since he helped me...”

Present Mic blinks at her, then smiles wide. “Well, we don’t allow students to give away points, but you shouldn’t worry!” He leans in and stage whispers, conspiratorially. “You and Midoriya don’t have anything to worry about.” Izuku blinks when he hears that, and he swears he doesn’t imagine the way Present Mic glances at the camera.

The screen cuts back to All Might, and he gestures at a pop-up of what looks like a blank table of results. “Midoriya! You received 5 battle points, but that wasn’t the only thing we were looking for in the practical portion. Students were also awarded rescue points based on their ability and willingness to help others even at a potential cost to themselves, as well as their ability to remain calm and collected and work with others during a crisis.” All Might’s grin widens. “Midoriya, the judges all agreed that you and Uraraka showed incredible potential. You quickly put together a plan to help a fellow student, even knowing you did not have enough battle points. You communicated with her efficiently and administered appropriate first aid. For this, you received 60 rescue points.” 

Izuku’s jaw drops at the display behind All Might populates with names and point values. Izuku’s name is in the 6th place, just above Iida. He quickly scans the names and sees Uraraka in 9th place, with 28 battle points and 30 rescue points. 

All Might starts talking again, and Izuku refocuses on the holographic man. “Uraraka was given 30 rescue points for the use of her quirk and her ability to stay calm and act logically even in the face of danger. You and young Uraraka truly demonstrated how pros should help each other and work together to conquer difficult situations.”

“With that out of the way, I would like to officially announce that you, Izuku Midoriya, have been accepted into UA’s hero course in class 1-A. Midoriya, welcome to your hero academia.” All might bows, then the hologram flickers out, and Izuku is vaguely aware of the fact that his mouth is as wide open as possible. He just stares at the spot where All Might had been, thinks those words over and over again.  _ I’m accepted. I’m accepted. I’m accepted. _

He stands up, wiping his sleeve at the tears running down his face, and bursts out of his room. His mom is in the living room, sitting on the table with a mug of steaming tea, and she startles when he appears suddenly, jostling her mug. 

“Izuku? What’s wrong?” She pushes her chair back and stands up, her face worried. “You’re crying...”

Izuku shakes his head and all but throws himself at her. “I got in! Mom, I did it, I got into UA!” He wraps his arms around her, and she returns the tight hug. 

“Oh, Izuku,” she has a smile in her voice, and she squeezes him tightly. “You did it!” She laughs, almost lifting him off the ground. “You did it, baby!”

“I did it!” Izuku crows happily, his eyes still full of happy tears. He bruises his face in his mom’s shoulder and laughs, shaky uneven laughs. 

She makes katsudon for them that night, and she puts on his favorite All Might tape and Izuku doesn’t even feel bitter at the hero. He thinks that maybe, it’s okay that All Might told him he couldn’t be a hero. Maybe he can prove All Might wrong at UA. 

_ I’m going to UA, _ he thinks, gleefully.  _ I’m going to be a hero! _

\--

On the first day of classes, Izuku is trembling before he even steps onto campus. He’s standing outside the gate, and he’s pretty sure he’s going to melt, looking up at the huge entrance. He’s dreamed about it for so long that seeing it now, in his grey uniform and with his student ID in his pocket, doesn’t feel real. He feels people pushing past him, walking through the gates, but he just stands and stares, open mouthed. 

“Midoriya!” He turns at the familiar face, just in time for Uraraka to practically crash into him. “You’re here!” She grabs his hands, jumping up and down. “We made it!”

Izuku blinks and smiles, feeling his face heat up. “Um-- yeah!”

She grins, bright and happy, then lets go of his hands. “They told me you’d gotten in too, and I was so happy!” She starts walking forward again, and Izuku scrambles after her, glancing nervously up at the gate as they pass under it. “The rescue points thing totally caught me off guard!”

“Y-Yeah, me too.” Izuku replies, letting her lead him deeper into campus. “I thought for sure I’d failed,” he admits, and he returns her smile.

“This is just so amazing!” She says, gushing. “Oh! What class are you in?”

“1-A,” Izuku replies.

“Oh, me too!” She bounces on her feet. “C’mon, let’s go and see who else is in our class!”

Izuku lets Uraraka lead him through the halls, and he’s kind of glad that she’s helping him because he has no idea of where the classes are, even though he’s sure he’d looked at a map before coming here. He just couldn’t remember, not with how amazing it is that he’s at UA of all places. It’s like something out of a dream. 

He watches Uraraka open the  _ huge _ door to the classroom, and he follows her inside, looking at...

Oh. Izuku stares right at Kacchan where he’s sitting in the center of the class, arguing with Iida of all people. Izuku feels his stomach drop when Kacchan turns his head, makes eye contact with Izuku. He watches the look on Kacchan’s face warp into something poisonous, something ugly. Izuku takes a step back, half on purpose and half on instinct.

“Izuku?” Uraraka whispers, just at the same time that Kacchan speaks.

“Deku,” he sneers, getting up from his desk. “What the  _ hell _ are you doing here?”

“I, um, I--” Izuku stops, flinching when Kacchan sets off a small explosion, the blast crackling in the air. 

“I thought I told you to apply somewhere fucking else,” Kacchan growls, but he doesn’t approach Izuku, doesn’t try to hurt him. Izuku thinks  _ that’s good, he won’t get himself in trouble _ . 

“If you’re quite finished,” a deep, oddly familiar voice from the front of the room interrupts. “Take your seats. If you’re just here to continue middle school drama, you can see yourself out.” Izuku pinpoints the source of the voice, a yellow sleeping bag at the front of the classroom. It unzips, and Izuku gasps. 

“Eraserhead?” He whisper-shouts, and Eraser’s eyes focus on him. The man looks different without the googles, more tired and yet also scarier at the same time. He arches an eyebrow. Izuku prays, prays he doesn’t recognize him. 

Izuku scrambles into his seat, next to Uraraka and Iida, and thankfully, Eraserhead doesn’t seem to recognize him. It’s a relief, but he’s still on edge, like a live wire. 

“I’m Aizawa Shouta. I’m your homeroom teacher,” Aizawa says, and Izuku’s jaw drops. Eraserhead, the underground hero, is their  _ homeroom teacher? _ The only person (probably) who could kill Izuku, and the only person to have talked with his vigilante self for any length of time? He wishes he could die for real, if only to spare himself from the panic attack he’ll have later over this. 

“And yes, Midoriya,” the teacher drawls. “I am the pro hero Eraserhead. I have no earthly idea how you knew that, but I also don’t care.” He sighs, blinking slowly. “We’ll be skipping the opening ceremony. Get dressed.” He unzips his bag more, pulls out a bunch of uniforms like the ones from the entrance exam, and starts tossing them over the desk and at students. 

Izuku has a feeling this is going to be a long day.

\--

When they’re all there, dressed in their sports uniforms and looking a little lost, Iida approaches Izuku, walking stiffly and neatly. 

“Midoriya. I want to say, I misjudged you at the entrance exam.” Iida looks at Izuku through his glasses. “You clearly knew something about that exam that the rest of us didn’t. I’m sorry for underestimating you. I’d like to start over,” he extends a hand like he’s asking for a handshake, and Izuku awkwardly takes it, feeling his whole body shake when Iida gives it a firm squeeze. 

“T-That’s fine,” Izuku says, mostly because he doesn’t know what else to say. 

“Alright,” Aizawa’s voice interrupts their conversation, and they break away from their handshake, both turning to face their teacher. He’s lost the sleeping bag and is now wearing something pretty much identical to his hero outfit. Izuku shivers. It reminds him of how easily he could be caught. 

“We’ll be doing a quirk assessment activity today,” he says, and Izuku feels his heart drop into his stomach. 

Aizawa explains how the test is going to work, has Kacchan demonstrate by throwing a ball with explosive force, and it takes everything Izuku has to stay focused on his teacher's words. 

"This sounds like it'll be fun," someone whispers, and Izuku flinches at the way Aizawa's head whips around to look at them.

"Fun, huh? You've only got three years to become a hero," Aizawa says, his voice deadly serious. "Will you treat it as a game that whole time? Fine. Whoever scores last in this test will be judged to have no potential and will be expelled." 

And that’s the kicker, right? Izuku takes in a deep breath, and the sounds of his own brain drowns out Uraraka’s protests about the test being unfair or something. It is. She just doesn’t know  _ how _ unfair it is, or  _ why _ , because Izuku might not be quirkless but Aizawa doesn’t know that. Aizawa thinks he’s quirkless and he’s doing this anyway. Izuku thought he would be free of this in high school, that the hero school that accepted quirkless students would at least treat them better, but now he isn’t so sure. 

The tests pass by in a blur. Izuku gapes at the abilities of his classmates, and he knows he improves his own score, but it isn’t enough. He keeps track in his head, roughly, and he knows he’s a little behind even the invisible girl and the guy who can summon animals, even though they can’t really use their quirks for this. It makes his head hurt, a little, when Uraraka throws that ball and hits infinity, but he tries to be happy for her. Maybe they’ll stay friends even after he’s expelled. 

The test ends, and Aizawa sighs. “Here are your results,” he says, and he makes his phone display them for everybody to see. Izuku hopefully, hopefully reads through the names, his heart sinking lower and lower with every one that isn’t his. He's dead last. He feels like he’s going to throw up.

“Midoriya,” Aizawa says. “You’re expelled. You can’t be a hero,” and it hurts Izuku in a way that he hasn’t felt since that first day on the roof, since he stood there and heard All Might tell him those same words. 

“Because I’m quirkless?” he whispers, and he hears someone gasp behind him, but he doesn’t look back. It doesn’t matter anyway. He already knows that this run through is a dud, that as soon as he’s done here he’ll go home and draw a bath, place his knife next to the tub. Bleed out, slowly. 

Aizawa’s eyebrow twitches. “No, not because you’re quirkless.” He sighs, tipping his head back like this is a  _ chore _ for him. “Because that’s  _ all _ you are. A quirkless person can become a hero,” he says, leveling Izuku with a gaze full of something dark. “But you can’t get there with hard work and determination alone. Trying your best to win the same way as everyone else is stupid and all it’ll do will get you killed.” 

Izuku meets his gaze, and he feels a heat burning in his chest, something angry and strong. “So you’re saying it’s not because I’m quirkless, but because I’m trying my best?” He knows his voice comes out clipped and in the back of his head, he’s panicking, but somehow knowing that this isn’t the last time he’ll be here makes it easier to be defiant. 

“Heroes need to know their limits,” Aizawa says, meeting his gaze without so much as a twitch. “You’re dismissed.” His voice is cold, nothing like when he questioned Izuku as Ace, and Izuku wonders which one is the act. He nods curtly, then turns on his heels and pushes past his ex-classmates, ignoring Uraraka calling after him. It doesn’t matter. He’ll see her again. 

When he gets home, his mom isn’t there and he can take his time. He draws a hot bath, sharpens his knife on the whetstone his mom got him to celebrate him getting into UA. He waits for the water to fill the tub, sitting on the bathroom floor and drawing little red lines in the skin of his arms, one for each assessment exercise. It’s stupid, and he knows they’ll be gone when he wakes up, but it’s the only little rebellion he’ll allow himself. If he gets snappy with Aizawa next time or messes up again, it’ll be worse for him. This is okay; it’s not really hurting himself, since he’s going to reset everything in just a bit. 

He sinks into the water, and slits his wrists. 

\--

He wakes up right as the class gasps, Uraraka jumping to her feet.

“But, sensei, that isn’t fair!” She’s frowning, and Izuku is trying to remember when this happened. “Not everyone has a quirk that will help them with physical stuff. And it’s only the first day, you can’t expel us!”

“I can,” Aizawa says, and Izuku thinks  _ ah, right here _ . “And I will. Life isn’t fair. Heroics isn’t fair. Get used to it.” And he starts the tests. 

Izuku knows what he’s going to do, as soon as he processes that even though she doesn’t know it, Uraraka was defending him. He knows it’s a gamble; Aizawa is either going to hate it or love it, and if he hates it, IZuku isn’t sure that there’s a way for him to get through this first day. But he has to try. 

So, when it’s his turn, when Aizawa tells him to throw the ball, that he can do anything as long as he stays in the circle, Izuku turns right at him and gives him a smile. It’s shaky, but it’s there. Aizawa doesn’t react, not visibly, but that’s fine. Izuku turns to Uraraka.

“Um, Uraraka, w-would you mind floating this for me?” He extends the ball so she can reach it without stepping outside of the circle. 

Her face lights up with understanding. “Oh! Yeah, of course!” She skips over to it and taps it with all five fingers, and Izuku feels it go weightless in his hand.

“Thanks!” he chirps, then glances over at Aizawa.

“Midoriya,” Aizawa starts, sighing dramatically, but Izuku doesn’t wait for him.

“Heroes need to know their limits, right?” Izuku says, and he sees Aizawa’s eyes winden just the tiniest bit and Izuku clenches his fist around the ball. “I don’t have anything that can help me with these tests, so I asked for help. I didn’t leave the circle, so it should be fine, right?”

“...Right,” Aizawa replies. “Go on.”

Izuku turns forward and throws the ball forward and up, launching it into the air just like Uraraka had. He feels the smile splitting his face. 

When they get the results, Izuku isn’t last, and even though he’s only one place higher than last time, he feels himself relax. He can’t believe that that trick worked!

“As for the expulsion,” Aizawa says. “That was just a logical ruse, to draw out the best in you. You may all get cleaned up for your next class.”

Izuku stares at him, and he knows he’s making a dumb face from the way Aizawa glances at him, but he can’t help himself because he  _ knows _ it wasn’t just a ruse. He expelled Izuku. He  _ expelled _ Izuku and Izuku  _ killed himself _ over it. It makes him sick to his stomach, and as they walk back to the locker rooms, he can’t help but think there could be any reason for it other than his supposed quirklessness. Why else would Aizawa spare a quirked student from expulsion, but not Izuku?

It’s not the worst Izuku’s had, not worse than being shoved into lockers and beaten and told to kill himself, but right now it feels like it is. He bites his lip and thinks that if his homeroom teacher hates the quirkless, well, then he’s in for a rough year. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: self ha
> 
> i hope you enjoyed!!! thank you all for all of the sweet comments you leave me; they mean a lot!


	8. battle simulation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku gets into 1-A and promptly gets his ass expelled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: i can't update today  
> also me: updates
> 
> dfjkghdfkj i actually had a ton of fun writing this chapter!! i usually haaaate rewriting canon shit because it feels so repetitive and restrictive, but i sorta just ignored canon and did what i felt like for this and it was nice!! USJ is coming up so that'll be more canon rewrites, but i have some idea of how to make that interesting, so don't worry !

The rest of his classes are so normal that it’s almost hard to believe he’s at UA and not just an ordinary high school. The fact that pro heroes are his teachers sort of helps remind him, though, and he’s grateful to find that Present Mic and Midnight don’t seem to have the same issues with him as Aizawa does. It’s a relief, and by the time he’s headed to lunch, he doesn’t feel quite so pessimistic, because Uraraka and Iida are walking with him to the lunch room. 

“I’m really excited,” Uraraka says, punching the air. “Lunch Rush’s cooking has got to be  _ amazing _ , right? And it’s free with our tuition!” She’s walking backwards, facing them, and Izuku can tell that it’s driving Iida crazy from the way his hands keep shooting out to stop her from running into things just moments before she corrects herself. 

“Uraraka, I agree, but please walk properly. You’re going to run into something,” he says, and Izuku grins when Uraraka sticks a tongue out at him. 

“I can see where I’m going in the reflection of your glasses!” She says, laughter in her voice, and Izuku snickers alongside her as they step into the mess hall, the smells of food washing over them.Izuku feels his mouth water, and he glances around to see the various lunch lines. There are brightly colored displays on TVs above each line, showing a picture of what they’re serving. Izuku’s happy to see the image of a bowl of katsudon, the chicken crispy and golden brown on top of a bed of rice. 

“Still!” Iida says, a little flustered, and Uraraka rolls her eyes, turning to walk normally. 

“Let’s sit here,” she says, dropping her backpack at the end seat at a nearby table. “We can get our food and meet back up! I’m going to get the curry.”

“Okay!” Izuku says. “I’m going for the katsudon, I think.”

Iida nods. “I will also be getting the curry! I am excited to try Lunch Rush’s preparation of the tofu.”

Uraraka giggles, and she waves at Izuku as she and Iida walk over to the first line, while Izuku heads to the last line. It’s a nice feeling, knowing that he has friends to sit with, but it’s a foreign feeling too. He’s used to eating outside, alone, and praying that his bullies don’t try to go looking for him. He steps into the line for the katsudon, and waits, listening to the bustling sounds of the cafeteria. 

He’s become accustomed to using his sense of sound more since he started with his Ace thing, but he’s still way better at listening to the quiet, subtle sounds of the city at night. The cafeteria is loud, with the background chatter of many students talking and the sounds of utensils clinking. He can hear, faintly, the sizzling of food in hot pans and the clanking of metal from the kitchen. The room smells like fried food and heavy spices, and if he focuses, he can smell the faint, sweet smell of cooked rice. He breathes deeply.

He gets his food, and it looks  _ amazing _ . Two slices of chicken, a bowl of perfectly steamed rice, two kinds of pickled vegetables, and an orange. It’s healthier than the version his mom makes, but he supposes it makes sense. Lunch Rush has to keep their nutrition in mind, too! Izuku thinks that it’s amazing as he walks back toward the table he can already see Uraraka and Iida at, but when he’s only one table away, somebody claps a hand on his shoulder, making him jump.

“ _ Deku _ ,” he hears, and he knows it’s Kacchan even before he turns and sees the scowl on his face, those familiar red eyes. 

“K-Kacchan,” he replies, starting to shake and stutter already, even though Kacchan hasn’t done anything yet.

“Don’t get too fucking comfortable,” Kacchan snarls. “I’m going to beat you into the ground hard enough that you drop out before Aizawa can expel your useless ass. Got it?”

Izuku doesn’t have to reply, because Kacchan shoves him and turns, sitting down at his own table, next to Kirishima and Ashido from class. The two are giving him a look like they’re a little bit wary of him, and Izuku forces himself to turn and walk the rest of the way to his seat, setting his tray down and sitting. 

“What was that about?” Iida asks, an eyebrow raised, and Izuku just shakes his head. 

“I-It’s nothing,” he replies.

“He called you Deku, right? That’s such a cute nickname!” Uraraka says, smiling. “Can I call you that?”

“It’s um. It’s an insult,” Izuku replies, nudging his rice around with his chopsticks.

“Really?” Uraraka says, surprised. “I thought it was like, ‘you can do it,’ y’know?”

Izuku blushes, looking up at her. “Y-You can call me Deku!” He squeaks out.

“But you just said it was an insult!” Iida says, sounding offended. “You agreed way too easily!”

“N-No, it’s okay!” Izuku says, smiling at both of his friends. “Um, it’s like r-reclaiming it, right? So I t-think it’s okay.”

“Yay!” Uraraka cheers, then takes a bite of her apple. “So, Deku,” she says around a mouthful of fruit. “What do you think of Aizawa-sensei?”

Izuku shrugs, puts a mouthful of rice in his mouth, then points at himself as if to say  _ my mouth is full! _ Uraraka, thankfully, doesn’t notice that it’s anything more than him being hungry, and she laughs, turning to Iida to ask him some questions. Izuku listens along as he eats, and before he knows it, he’s joining in. Lunch passes quickly, and Izuku’s face hurts from smiling by the end of it.

\--

The second day of class comes, and his morning classes pass uneventfully. Izuku spends more time than is strictly necessary stewing about Aizawa, but he doesn’t think the teacher notices. He’s good at hiding frustration with teachers; he’s been doing it his whole life. Teachers never cared when he was bullied in middle school, so he didn’t really like them very much. Izuku figures that at least nobody’s bullying him here, so he can handle the usual disdain from teachers.

Today’s the first day that they have heroics class, and Izuku is practically vibrating out of his skin. Yesterday, they’d just filled out a bunch of safety waivers and emergency contact forms, so it’d been painfully boring. Their teacher hadn’t even shown  _ up; _ Ectoplasm had given them the papers instead. Not that Izuku minds meeting Ectoplasm, especially given that he used his clones to pass things out more efficiently. 

When it’s All Might who pops into the gym, all giant shining grin and bulging muscles, Izuku thinks he might die a little bit. It’s one thing to have your idol who told you that you can’t be a hero give you your acceptance announcement; it’s another thing entirely to have him teaching you  _ heroics _ . Izuku thinks he might faint. He’s not sure what’s worse, if All Might remembers him, or if he doesn’t.

It’s probably because of this internal meltdown that Izuku totally misses the explanation of the exercise, but he figures out what’s going on quick enough when All Might starts drawing names for teams. Izuku sighs in relief when All Might says,

“Midoriya and Uraraka,” setting the two slips of paper in front of the letter A. Izuku watches as he selects the rest of the teams, then puts aside the box that had their names in it.

“Now, I’ll draw which teams go first!” All Might announces, reaching into the box. “Team A, and...” he sets the paper aside, then pulls out another. “Team D! Midoriya and Uraraka will be the heroes, and Iida and Bakugou will be the villains.”

Izuku chokes on his own spit, ignoring the way Uraraka shoots him a worried glance. He risks looking over at Kacchan, but the way the other boy just cracks his knuckles and sneers at Izuku... it certainly doesn’t make him feel any better.

“Team D, go ahead and go into the building,” All Might continues. “I’ll give you about 5 minutes to get set up. You can put in your earpieces. They’re just linked to your teammate, so the enemies won’t hear you communicating.” Izuku watches, body feeling like wood as Kacchan and Iida march out of the observation area, headed into the mock building. He wonders, vaguely, how long it’ll be before Kacchan kills him and he wakes up, only to have to die over and over again. Maybe he’ll get lucky and he’ll reset far enough back that he can fake being sick and get out of the exercise.

“You okay, Deku?” Uraraka says, nudging him with her elbow. He glances over at her, sees her worried look through the visor of her costume. He nods.

“Y-Yeah, I’m okay...” He uses his gloved hands to smooth out his own costume. It’s... a little too close to his Ace costume, really, what with the nearly identical utility belt and gloves, but his mom had made the jumpsuit distinctive enough, based off of some of his drawings. They’d worked on the visor and faceguard together, ultimately deciding on a pair of simple shatterproof glasses and a high collar that would protect his face. The jumpsuit is the only thing she’d made herself-- the rest, they’d requested from support-- but the final result is so true to the design that they made together. It feels nice, to be able to wear it. 

“We’ll do just fine,” Uraraka says, giving him a smile. “Don’t stress yourself out about it before it even starts!”

“R-Right,” Izuku says, nodding.

“Alright! Midoriya and Uraraka, you can go in now,” All Might says, his voice booming over the loudspeakers. Izuku glances at Uraraka, and she nods before starting into the building.

“Uraraka, Kacchan’s going to come after me,” Izuku says, quick and quiet. “It’s not ideal, but if you get away and surprise Iida, we might have a shot.” 

She nods. “Okay. Be careful, okay?”

“Okay,” he replies, and she follows him as he walks into the building, glancing around quickly and trying to get a handle on his surroundings. 

He hears Kacchan’s footsteps, quick and angry and surprisingly light, so he knows to grab Uraraka’s arm and yank her away from the wall in front of them. They jump back just in time for the wall to burst open in a concussive blast, making Izuku’s ears ring. 

“Go,” he whispers, and Uraraka nods before taking off towards the stairs that Kacchan just revealed. She’s gone before the dust clears, and that’s good because when it does, Kacchan is stepping over the pile of rubble, punching a fist into his own hand and setting off a popping blast like he used to do after school to let Izuku know he was about to suffer.

“Deku,” Kacchan spits. “You better not dodge. I’m not going to hurt your bad enough to make them stop this fight,” he snarls, lunging forward with his right fist, “but I’m going to get pretty damn close!”

Izuku ducks under his punch, letting it sail over his head as he steps to Kacchan’s side. The movement unbalances Kacchan slightly, and Izuk sweeps at his ankles with his foot, sending his childhood friend face down into the rubble. 

“What the hell was that?!” Kacchan roars, propelling himself up off the ground just as Izuku slides back, out of his range. 

“Y-You always start with a right hook, Kacchan,” Izuku says as he reaches down, grabbing a chunk of rubble with his right hand. He runs to the side, ducking under a blast that comes so close to his shoulder that he thinks he might have a burn there. He steps into the hole in the wall Kacchan made, then lobs the chunk of broken concrete he picked up right at Kacchan’s head. He winces when it makes contact, knocking into the side of Kacchan’s skull. Kacchan whips around to look at him, fire in his eyes.

“You think you’re fucking better than me, huh?!” He rushes forward, grabbing Izuku by the front of his shirt. Izuku squirms, kicking out with his feet, desperately trying to get down before Kacchan blows his brains out.

“N-No, I don’t!” he pants, then drops straight to the ground. Kacchan lets go of him in surprise, but it puts Izuk at a disadvantage because he has to roll across the sharp, uneven rubble to dodge Kacchan’s next explosion. 

“Then why the  _ fuck,”  _ Kacchan hisses, throwing a punch that hits Izuku square on the cheek, sending him stumbling back. “Do you think you can stand against me? A useless, quirkless extra like  _ you _ ?”

“K-Kacchan, I--” Izuku starts, but he has to stop when Kacchan explodes a fist right next to his head, making Izuku flinch. He knows he can fight better than this, knows that he’s  _ better  _ than this, but something about Kacchan blowing up and calling him a quirkless loser makes him small and weak all over again.

“Deku?” Uraraka’s voice comes through the earpiece. “Um. I’m sorry, Iida found me out. He got rid of anything I could float, and he’s a lot faster than me...” Izuku bites his lip, ducks into a hallway, and starts running. Kacchan will catch up, but he needs a moment to talk to his teammate. 

“Okay, um,” He runs up the stairs, his breath coming quick. “Do you know how to fight?”

“Not really!” Uraraka gasps on the other end of the line, and Izuku winces, guessing that she was barely able to keep out of the way of Iida’s kicks. 

“Okay. Okay, so Iida uses his legs, which are um. They’re longer range than arms.” Izuku flinches at an explosion below him, prays that it’ll take Kacchan at least another moment. “So if you focus on trying to punch him, on staying too close for him to kick, it’ll be harder for him to get a good blow in.” His feet are pounding on the concrete, and he wishes the building was big enough for him to try being stealthy, but there’s no way when he knows Kacchan can just blow all the walls out if he needs to.

“How am I supposed to get the weapon?” Uraraka hisses, and Izuku clenches his jaw for a second, then answers.

“Is he sticking close to it, or staying with you?”

“Close to it,” she replies. 

“Okay,” Izuku replies, just as he sees Kacchan round the corner. “I’ve got to go, but go around him, not in through him. His quirk probably makes it hard for him to stay in one place.”

“Okay,” Uraraka replies, and Izuku hopes he’s not imagining the confidence in her voice. “Don’t let Bakugou catch you!”

“I’ll try,” he says through gritted teeth as he  _ barely  _ dodges a punch, a left one.  _ Kacchan is on guard _ , he thinks, sliding to Kacchan’s side and praying that Uraraka beats Iida quickly enough that Izuku doesn’t die.

“You know,” Kacchan snarls, tilting his head. “You’ve got some real fuckin’ nerve coming to UA. This is  _ my  _ dream, and you know damn well that my plan doesn’t include you in it!” He punctuates his statement with a blast, louder than the others. 

“I-I get to have dreams, too!” Izuku shouts before he can think, and he knows he's going to pay for it when Kacchan’s eyes narrow. 

“I requested these when I asked for my costume,” Kacchan says, raising a grenade shaped glove. “I know you know how my quirk works, so I’ll spare you the fucking details. These things store my sweat,” Kacchan grins, and Izuku feels his chest sink. “And I’ve been letting them fill up all this time.”

“Young Bakugou,” All Might’s voice fills the room, muffled through the walls all the same. “Don’t use that, it’ll kill--”

“It won’t if he dodges,” Kacchan sneers, and he’s pulling the pin on his grenade arm just as Izuku has the sense to throw himself to the side and down.

He thinks he might lose consciousness for a moment, because he doesn’t register the sound of the actual blast, only the way his ears are ringing and he can taste blood. He coughs, soot choking his lungs, and he can’t hear his own breathing over the sharp ringing. His head hurts, he notes absently. He looks up to see Kacchan walking towards where he’s collapsed on the ground, holding his chest and head off of the blackened rubble with his forearms. 

Izuku isn’t sure what possesses him, but as Kacchan raises a foot to stomp on him, he rolls to the side and grabs Kacchan’s standing leg, then leans forward and  _ bites _ it, like he thinks he’s a feral animal. Kacchan topples over on top of him, and Izuku starts to hear him screaming over the ringing in his ears just as he winds the capture tape around Kacchan’s ankles. 

“Bakugou is captured!” All Might’s voice rings out over the loudspeaker, and Izuku dully notices he still has his teeth buried in Kacchan’s calf, and that Kacchan is definitely hitting him on the back. 

“Young Bakugou, stop!” All Might orders, and then pauses. “The battle is over. Uraraka has retrieved the weapon! The heroes win.” Izuku relaxes when he hears that, pulls his teeth out of Kacchan’s flesh, but that’s about all he can do. He lays there, limp, as Kacchan’s weight suddenly lifts off of him.

“Deku!” Uraraka’s voice fills his head, and he looks upward to see a furious Kacchan struggling in mid air and Uraraka crouching beside him with a bloody nose. “Are you alright? I heard All Might tell Bakugou to stop, and there was this horrible explosion...”

“You won,” he says, and his voice is a slur. Uraraka’s brows draw together. “You... got the weapon.”

“Only with your advice!” She says, and then carefully wraps her arms around his shoulders and hauls him up so he’s sitting on his butt instead of collapsed on the ground. “Jeez, you look like you got hit by a truck!”

“Got hit by a Kacchan,” he says weakly, and Uraraka laughs nervously, turning to look at something to her side. 

“Hey, I think he has a concussion,” she says, and it’s the last thing Izuku hears before he’s dragged into unconsciousness. He wonders, briefly, if he’s dying.

\--

When he opens his eyes in the infirmary, his first thought is that he’s been transported all the way back to when he was here after the entrance exam, after he failed and the zero pointer crushed him. He stares at the white light on the ceiling and feels his eyes burn, smells the sharp antiseptic and thinks,  _ I thought I’d died _ . 

And then he remembers that he was paired up against Kacchan in the battle simulation and jerks up into the sitting position, startling Uraraka and Iida where they’re sitting in chairs beside his bed.

“Deku!” Uraraka says, a smile splitting her face. “You’re okay!”

“He’s fine now,” Recovery Girl says, and Izuku glances over to see her at her desk, filling out paperwork. “But don’t tire him out, hm?”

“Yes ma’am!” Uraraka and Iida say in unison, and Izuku turns back to look at them. 

“You were amazing,” Uraraka breathes. “We saw the footage after class, and you just-- you fought against him so well! And you give  _ perfect _ instructions, I did what you said and I got around Iida and get the weapon no problem!”

“R-Really?” Izuku asks, feeling his face heat up. “Um. I-I’m sure it’s because of you, not--”

“It was really quite impressive how you managed to come up with a strategy under those circumstances,” Iida interrupts, pushing his glasses up onto his nose. 

“I thought I was going to die,” Izuku says, sighing with relief, and he hears Uraraka chuckle, but it sounds a little nervous.

“Yeah, Bakugou’s really scary,” she says. “All Might told him to stop and everything, but he just went... boom.” She makes a little explosion gesture with her hands.

“You’ll be satisfied to hear that I gave him a lecture on following the teacher’s instructions,” Iida says, folding his arms over his chest. “We could have easily won that if he’d been calm and strategized, too. The villains were favored in the set-up of that exercise.”

“Yeah!” Uraraka says, nodding. “That’s why All Might said you were the most valuable player for our round! Because you took a difficult situation and worked through it, and you communicated with me and stuff!”

“All Might said that?” Izuku asks, feeling a little dizzy. “L-Like,  _ All Might _ ?”

“Yes!” Uraraka says, giggling. “The one and only!”

Izuku blinks, suddenly remembering that he was at school. “W-Wait, what about class? Am I late?”

“You’ve been asleep for a while, sonny.” Recovery Girl sounds mildly amused. “All you missed was the rest of battle training, if what your teacher told me over the phone was correct.”

“Mmhm!” Uraraka confirms. “School’s over, but me and Iida wanted to walk you home, since you hit your head and all. All Might said he’d give you a tape of the rest of the battles to watch next time he sees you.”

“Iida and I,” Iida corrects, pushing his glasses up on his face.

“You guys want t-to walk me home?” Izuku asks, blinking.

“If that’s alright with you,” Uraraka replies, and Izuku nods fervently. They walk him home, and when his mom absolutely lights up at seeing them, when she invites them to stay for dinner and to hang out, Izuku almost forgets the look on Kacchan’s face when they fought.

\--

For all that he was hoping to stay away from Kacchan, Izuku isn’t surprised to see him waiting outside his house the next day. Izuku sees him, leaning against the fence and stuffing his phone in his pocket. He’s got his backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Deku,” Kacchan greets, and it’s less of a snarl than Izuku thought it would be.

“Kacchan,” Izuku says wearily. He shuts the door carefully behind him, locking it before turning to face his childhood friend. He knows Kacchan wouldn’t stop him from locking up, for all that he rages and acts impulsive. Kacchan likes Izuku’s mom; always has, more than Izuku likes Auntie Mitsuki anyway. 

“How the fuck did you do it?” Kacchan growls, but he doesn’t put a hand on Izuku, just wraps his fingers tight on the fence. “How the fuck did you beat me? You’re  _ quirkless _ ,” and he says it like it’s a dirty word, like it’s something filthy. Izuku hates the way tears are already welling up in his eyes. He should be used to this by now.

“I-I’ve been working really hard, K-Kacchan,” he says, and his voice breaks, cracking. 

“But  _ how _ ?” Kacchan snarls, and Izuku realizes, suddenly, that his friend’s eyes are tearing up, too. “How did  _ you _ beat  _ me? _ Have you been tricking me this whole time?”

“N-No, I-” Izuku tries to get a word in edgewise, but Kacchan cuts him off.

“Ever since we were little kids,” he shouts, voice rising, “you were always fucking looking down on me! And now you’re at fucking UA and you beat me without a  _ quirk _ .”

Izuku reaches out a hand, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s placing his palm right on top of Kacchan’s hand where it’s digging into his poor fence. Kacchan  _ startles _ , like Izuku burned him, then makes eye contact with him. 

“Kacchan, I never looked down on you.” Izuku speaks, firm and calm like he does when he’s Ace and not Deku. “This whole time, I... I followed after you because I wanted to be  _ like _ you. Because you’re just that amazing.”

Kacchan gapes at him, just staring, so Izuku presses on. “I... I shouldn’t tell you this, b-but... I do have a quirk. It just, um. I-It can’t be used in battle,” his voice is lowered, nearly to a whisper, and he can see Kacchan’s face starting to twitch, so he talks faster. “So I-I didn’t trick you! I d-didn’t know, um, until about three months ago. A-And I didn’t use it all in our fight so--”

“Whatever!” Kacchan snaps, pulling his hand away from Izuku’s and from the fence. “Do you think I care about any of that shit?” He shakes his head, scrubs at his face with a sleeve. “It’s just-- you didn’t see it, but that stupid half-and-half kid and ponytail chick, they’re-- they’re fucking amazing.” Kacchan takes in a breath, shaky. “I thought I was already at the top. But this is just the fucking beginning. I’m not backing down. I’m going to be number one!” He points a thumb back at himself, then points to Izuku. “And don’t you think I’ll let you beat me again, stupid Deku!”

Kacchan turns and starts to storm off, and Izuku blinks for a second before running after him. “W-Wait, Kacchan! We’re going to the same place, we should walk together!”

Kacchan blows up at him and snaps, but they walk together anyway, and Izuku knows that this is the closest Kacchan gets to an apology. It doesn’t make up for the years of bullying, for the nasty nickname and the burn scars. Hell, it doesn’t even make up for Kacchan breaking the rules to hurt him in the battle simulation. But it’s a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you all enjoyed!! if you're missing ace, dw i am too! we'll get some vigilante time after his crazy first week of school is done with. also!! i will get around to replying to all of the comments!! they mean a lot to me and make me very happy im just shy at replying djfghdkfj


	9. usj (part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku fights kacchan (wins) and tells him about his quirk (kind of)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hi hi!! i submitted my big scholarship application this morning and went to the gym this afternoon so today's been v v productive! this chapter isn't my best work, but that's because a lot of it is canon rewrite that's necessary to get to the new stuff. i wanted more of usj to be in this chapter, but it didn't all fit and i know the next bit will be long, so i decided to post what i have!

“Wait, so you’re quirkless?” Uraraka asks, mouth open. “I thought Bakugou was joking!” 

Izuku flushes, picks at his bowl of curry with his chopsticks. “I, um. Y-Yeah.” He wonders, briefly, if it would be better to tell the school about his quirk, if only so he can keep friends while he’s here. He doesn’t look at her, doesn’t want to see the look of pity or disgust or disappointment on her face. It’s easier not to look at Iida, since he’s beside Izuku instead of across.

“Whoa!” She says, her smile evident in her voice. “That’s super impressive, honestly. I barely got through the entrance exam  _ with  _ my quirk!” Izuku glances up despite himself, sees her eyes wide with a huge grin, he risks a glance at Iida, who nods quickly and says,

“The test was clearly biased towards those of us with physical quirks, so it’s especially impressive that you made it into the top ten. If anything, it’s inspiration for all of us to work harder.”

“Oh, yeah!” Uraraka says, smacking her own forehead. “That’s why you’re so good at combat, right? Because you aren’t relying on a quirk!”

“Um,” Izuku says, not sure how to respond. He’s sure his face is a bright red, and it turns even brighter when Kirishima from the table behind Uraraka turns around, mouth gaping.

“Wait, for real dude? That’s insane!” He grins, nudging Kaminari beside him. “Dude, Midoriya’s a badass.”

Kaminari glances back at them, mouth clearly full of food and nods fervently. Izuku stares at the two of them, and he wonders if he’s making a weird face because Kirishima gives him an awkward smile and a thumbs up. 

“You okay, Deku?” Uraraka says, tipping her head to the side.

“Um. Yeah,” he replies, not wanting to explain because those who aren’t quirkless don’t usually know what it’s like to  _ be  _ quirkless, what it means for people to know. How people usually react. They don’t remember when he told Kacchan when they were four, when Kacchan laughed at him and mocked him. They don’t remember when his classmates in elementary school found out, when they asked the teacher if that meant Izuku would be a baby forever, and the teacher told them that he’d grow up but he was  _ fragile _ , that they needed to be  _ careful _ . When he entered middle school, when the kids found out from the parents and the internet that it meant he was worthless, too, when the teachers shrugged it off and told him not to provoke it, told him to grow a thicker skin. Quirkless kids are  _ sensitive _ , don’t you know? They tend to overreact to these things. Why else would the bullying statistics be so high for a population so small? They’re  _ sensitive _ , susceptible to mental illness, too. They shouldn’t be trusted with high-stress jobs. They’re not fit for normal society.

“Deku?” Uraraka says, and he realizes that she, Iida, Kirishima, Kaminari, and now Ashido and Kacchan too, are all staring at him. He feels moisture on his cheeks and furiously wipes at the tears, scrunching his eyes shut for just a second.

“M-Most people,”he says, voice shaky. “Don’t think it’s, um. B-Badass.” He sees Kacchan scowl, sees Ashido make quick eye contact with Kirishima.

“It’s okay, dude,” Kaminari says, shrugging. “We’re not gonna like, make fun of you.”

“Yeah,” Ashido pipes up. “It’d be like making fun of me for being pink, like you can’t control it. It’s just kinda awesome that you’re the first quirkless hero course student, y’know?”

Izuku nods, his eyes filling with fresh tears, but before he can say anything, a loud bell blares through the mess hall. He glances around to see his classmates looking around in confusion, then hears someone shout,

“It’s the infiltration alarm! We’ve got to get out of here!” And suddenly, students start to stand and push their way to the exit rapidly. Izuku stands up when he sees Iida and Uraraka get out of their seats. He starts for the door, but it’s so crowded that it’s hard to move. 

“Everyone’s panicking!” Uraraka gasps, reaching out a hand and grabbing onto Izuku’s backpack. “Someone’s going to get hurt...”

Izuku nods, biting his lip and trying not to get jostled too terribly much. He looks for Iida, but he’s gone, off to the side somewhere. The walkway is hot with body heat and loud with the sounds of voices, the sounds of people panicking. Izuku feels like he’s choking, but he tamps that down and thinks about what’s happening.  _ UA has a notoriously strong security system,  _ he thinks.  _ If someone broke in, this is bad news _ . He looks to the window, the large one to his right, and sees Iida, pushing through the crowd.

“Uraraka!” He shouts, “Float me!” Izuku looks at Uraraka, who blinks and stretches out an arm, trying to reach Iida’s outstretched hand. Izuku nudges the person in front of her, and Iida and Uraraka link hands for just a second, then Iida is floating above the crowd. 

Izuku watches with wide eyes as Iida uses his quirk to propel himself over the heads of the other students, launching himself straight into the wall in an awkward position, like he’s mid-step while running. He takes a deep breath and shouts,

“Everybody calm down! It’s just the media! Everything is okay!” loud and clear and straight to the point. The crowd seems to take a collective breath, then slows down, starts to move in a more orderly fashion. 

Izuku takes a deep breath and starts forward, slipping away from Uraraka slightly. She catches his shoulder with one hand and says,

“Deku, where are you going? We can finish lunch if it’s just the media.” Her brows are furrowed as she lets him go and presses her fingers together, releasing her quirk on Iida where he’s moved to float just above the ground. The majority of the crowd seems to be dissipating, going back to their seats as the principal announces something Izuku isn’t listening to, his voice loud and clear over the speakers.

“I’m just going to double check something,” he says, and Uraraka gives him a short nod.

“Be careful, okay?” She says, flashing him a quick smile, and he returns it. She releases his sleeve and he turns, walking out of the lunch room and down the hall quickly.

There are a couple of students and teachers out here, and most of the students seem to be headed back to lunch or gathering in small clumps and talking. Midnight and Cementoss are there, talking to a couple of students, and Izuku sees Ectoplasm helping a student with a bruise on their elbow and dirt on the knees of their uniform. Izuku grimaces sympathetically at that. It’s not surprising that at least one kid got trampled, and Izuku’s honestly just glad there isn’t more. He moves through the crowd quickly, ignoring the way Midnight’s gaze catches on him, tracking him until he turns the corner and marches down the hallway. It’s empty, here, and the shiny tile floor is reflecting the light pouring through the windows. Izuku can hear the talking, from down the hall, but it’s finally quiet enough for him to hear his own footsteps. He takes a deep breath.

The thing is, Izuku knows UA is the best of the best. And while it’s certainly  _ possible _ that it was just the media, that there’s some crazy reporter with some crazy quirk, it’s also just as possible that this is something more. He can feel it, a twinge in his gut, and if he learned one thing as a vigilante, it was to trust his instinct. So, he pushes open the door to outside and steps onto the sidewalk. 

There are police officers and pro heroes, both from the school and not, herding a crowd of what definitely  _ looks _ like reporters back out of the gate. Izuku stares for a moment, watching the cameras and microphones the reporters have with them shining in the bright midday sun, before he realizes-- the  _ gate _ . The giant, metal gate that forms a part of the UA barrier-- it isn’t there. He looks at the rest of the perimeter and sure enough, the barrier is activated there, dark iron metal contrasting against the clear blue sky. But the gate isn’t. Izuku strains to see, squinting, but he can’t make anything out around the reporters, and he knows better than to approach with the teachers and police there. 

Well. He knows better than to approach if he plans on living, anyway. Izuku takes a deep breath and walks toward the wall just to the left of the crowd, stepping off of the sidewalk into the lawn. The grass sways under a light breeze as he walks, skirting the edges of the commotion as much as he can without losing sight of everything. He listens to his own breath, to the low static of the reporters arguing and whining as they’re finally pushed out. He sees the gate, crumbled into dust that’s gathered along the edges of the opening in the barrier, mixed up with dust and footprints but so clearly there, dark iron on the concrete ground. He sucks in a breath, because that  _ could _ be a reporter’s quirk, but reporters are usually so, so careful with quirk usage because they’re hyper aware of its illegality. 

“Midoriya.” Izuku nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears his name, and he instinctively jumps into a fighting stance before looking up and seeing Aizawa, standing with his arms crossed over his chest and a look of utter exhaustion on his face.

“Um, y-yes?” Izuku squeaks, quickly dropping the fighting stance, using the motion to take a step back from his teacher.

“What are you doing?” He asks, voice monotone. Izuku tries to figure out if it’s from annoyance or something else, but it’s hard to tell.

“I-I heard someone broke through the, um, the barrier,” he says, looking back behind Aizawa. “A-And I wanted to see how they did it?” It comes out as more of a question, and he sees Aizawa raise a brow, then sigh. 

“Get back inside and finish your lunch,” he says, and Izuku nods quickly, turning and walking back towards the building that houses the mess hall. He doesn’t intend on going back to lunch, though. If he can see who does that, who dissolves that wall, well...

Izuku walks into the building, but he makes a detour once inside, headed up the stairs two at a time. He crosses his fingers that nobody catches him, because this is the riskiest place he’s done this. The door to the roof isn’t unlocked, but he didn’t expect it to be. He goes to the top floor and opens a window, stares out. This window faces the back of the school, and there’s nobody out here. It’s only five stories, though, so he dives headfirst just to be sure.

\--

Izuku opens his eyes on the way to lunch, and it’s disorienting for just a second before he figures out that, oh, he and Iida and Uraraka walked this way to get into the lunch room. He stops walking, puts on a smile, and puts a hand up to the back of his head.

“H-Hey, I’m gonna stop by the bathroom first,” he says, and Uraraka and Iida glance back at him.

“Okay!” Uraraka says, flashing him a thumbs up. Iida nods, and Izuku turns and walks back down the hall, towards the men’s restroom and, conveniently, the exit. He clenches and unclenches his fists as he walks quickly down the hall, feeling his heart rate pick up, like his body knows he’s doing something against the rules. He pushes open the door to the outside, like last time, but this time there’s no obvious crowd blocking the gate. It’s open, but all of the reporters are outside of it like they should be, and they’re not even crowding around it like they were this morning. Izuku can’t make out faces or anything from this distance, though, so he takes the same path as last time, stepping onto the soft grass and listening to his own footsteps. It gives him something akin to deja vu, and he smiles at the thought. He has  _ literally _ been here before. 

This time, though, when he walks through the neatly kept lawn and steps into the shadow of another building, close enough to see the bolts on the gate and the way rust has just barely started to gather in some of the lines and cracks, where it’s been scrubbed off and the metal has been polish, this time, he isn’t interrupted. He stands and stares at the shiny metal of the gate. They keep it open during the day, usually, in case students need to leave, but because of the media presence, they shut it.

Izuku is maybe twenty feet from the gate, standing between a building that he  _ thinks _ is for the groundskeepers and a tall oak tree, when it happens. It looks like something out of a book, the gate crumbling from a point about as high as Izuku is tall. It starts as a circle that flakes away, iron dust glimmering in the darkness. Izuku watches as the gate breaks and peels and flutters, like old, dry paint on weathered wood, except this is well-kept iron that’s over a foot thick. Izuku swallows, and he stares directly at the man who did it. He’s taller than Izuku, but not by much, and his hair is white, almost blue. He looks at Izuku, makes eye contact with him, and Izuku sees bright, cherry red irises. His face is dry and flaking, like the gate, and Izuku takes a step back on instinct. This person is  _ dangerous _ .

He turns and runs, taking the first step just as the alarm goes off. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to shake the image of that man’s face, peeling and dry and  _ wrong _ out of his head, and that’s why he doesn’t see whoever it is he runs straight into, probably. 

He blinks, taking a step back and opening his eyes only to see Aizawa, of course, standing with his arms folded over his chest (just like last time. just like last time.) and an angry look on his face. He glares at Izuku, points a hand back at the school.

“Get inside and take shelter with everybody else until we figure out what’s going on,” he orders. “We  _ will _ talk later.” And that’s enough for Izuku to take off running again, sprinting across the lawn. He doesn’t go into the building with the lunch room, though. He goes back to the tall building, the one that he now  _ knows _ kills him if he jumps off of the highest floor. 

As he walks, ignoring the shouts of other students and the eventual announcement that it’s just the media, he thinks that he needs a better way to do this on campus. Something quick and easy and  _ private _ , so that he won’t get interrupted and he won’t have to trust that the building is tall enough and that there’ll be an open window. 

_ It helps, _ he thinks as he unlatches the window and swings his feet out.  _ that I’m not afraid to die _ .

He jumps.

\--

The next lunch period goes by in a haze, and Izuku doesn’t try to break away from the crowd or run. Classes are a blur, too, and he’s got a horrible headache that he’s pretty sure is from the stress of knowing that a scary person with a terrifying quirk broke into the school, but he can't be totally sure. He gets called on like ten times and gives half hearted, stupid answers, but it’s only because he can’t stop theorizing about what’s going on. Even on his walk home from the train station, with the sun spilling light through the leaves in the trees and onto the sidewalk, he’s thinking about it

The villain has some kind of disintegration quirk for sure, something that dissolves or shatters or disassembles, that much is clear. But the real question is if Izuku should warn people, if he should say something about what he saw. 

The way Izuku sees it, there are a few ways this could go. One, he could tell them and they don’t believe him. They think he’s lying, think there’s no way he could have the information. That he’s making something up for kicks or attention. Two, they could believe him. They could use the information and prepare, just in case. Third, and most likely, they could think he’s an enemy. They could find it suspicious, think he’s misleading them. Maybe this disintegration guy is a known problem, but a secret one. Maybe knowing will incriminate him, mark him as an ally of the bad guys. 

Izuku isn’t used to teachers trusting him. He tips his head back as he walks, watching a flock of birds make their way across the sky. It’s still clear and blue, but the afternoon light is darker and more saturated than it had been at lunch time. He wonders if Aizawa thought he was a traitor, that last time. Maybe he thought Izuku took down the gate himself. 

Izuku thinks, briefly, about going out as Ace tonight, but dismisses the idea. Tomorrow, they have the rescue training thing, and it’s apparently a field trip that will take the whole day. He’s trying to do well at UA, so he’ll need to be fully awake for something like that. 

It shouldn’t be too hard, really.

\--

Izuku watches nervously as Thirteen waves at them. He can’t see any kind of facial expression under her mask, and it’s making him jittery. He likes to know what teachers think of him. 

“Whoa, it’s like Universal Studios Japan,” someone whispers from behind him.

“This space was created to allow all kinds of different rescue scenarios and to practice rescue techniques in realistic environments,” Thirteen says. “It’s called the Unforeseen Simulation Joint!”

_ It really is USJ _ , Izuku thinks, a small smile creeping up on his face. He’s not sure what he’s expecting, really, but after the bus ride here, with his classmates making fun of Kacchan and chatting about the world of heroics, he’s a little more relaxed than he’d been yesterday. He takes a deep breath and resolves that even though Aizawa and Thirteen may not like him, he’ll make the most of this. It’s not like Thirteen has given him any kind of sign that she  _ doesn’t _ like him, either. 

Izuku watches Aizawa approach Thirteen and ask something under his breath. Izuku wonders what it’s about, and then he sees Thirteen shake her head and hold up three fingers. 

_ Is it... All Might’s limit? _ Izuku wonders, briefly, then gives himself a shake. He doesn’t even know if the staff at UA know about that. He hasn’t exactly talked to All Might about that, not since the day he found out, so he doesn’t have a lot of information about it. For all he knows, Thirteen is talking about three cats.

“Alright everyone, before we begin I have one thing to talk about,” Thirteen says, and Izuku straightens up. “Or two. Or three.” 

“I’m sure you’ve all heard of it,” she says, “but my quirk is called Black Hole. It can suck anything up and turn it to dust.”

“Yeah!” Izuku says, his excitement getting the best of him. “It’s a perfect quirk for removing wreckage and hazards in rescues!” Beside him, he can feel the air move from the sheer force of Uraraka’s enthusiastic nodding. 

Thirteen nods, the motion barely visible with her helmet. “Right. But it’s also a quirk that could easily be used to kill.” She looks over the group. “That’s the case for all of the quirks here. Please remember that even though quirks are normal in our society, they are dangerous and can seriously hurt people.” 

“With that said,” she continues. “You learned about your quirks’ limits with Aizawa-sensei’s test, and with All Might’s battle training, you got a feel for using your talents in battle. I hope this exercise can be a fresh start! You’ll learn to wield your quirks and abilities to help people. You will learn that your quirks exist for that very reason! If anything,” Thirteen might look at Izuku, or Izuku might imagine it “the quirks come second. The desire to help others is what makes the hero!”

_ Thirteen is so cool! _ Izuk thinks, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He can tell the sentiment is mirrored by his classmates, and he feels energy, quick and warm and happy, building in his chest. Helping people is why he  _ lives _ , why he goes on the streets at night and why he’s attending UA as “quirkless.” It’s why he exists. He knows that this exercise will let him finally, finally get to hone his skills and get better at helping people.

“Alright, first thing’s first...” Aizawa says, but he trails off, glancing behind himself. Izuku sees it, too, a swirling dark bloom in the air, a mist that looks heavy and oppressive. He watches it open, like a wound, and he feels his heart drop into his stomach when he sees a too-familiar head of icy white hair push its way through. He sees the hands, capped with gold at the wrists and pale, all over the man’s body and head and Izuku thinks that he’s going to throw up when he sees a flash of red in his eyes. 

“Huddle together and don’t move!” Aizawa screams, and Izuku doesn’t have to be told twice. He grabs those closest to him and pulls them together, just as Aizawa shouts, “Thirteen! Protect the kids!” He starts forward, like he’s going to fight, and Izuku swallows around the lump in his throat. More people, more villains, pour out of the hole in the sky, filling the ground in front of them.

“Is this like at the entrance exam?” Kirishima asks. “Is this part of the training?”

“It isn’t,” Izuku whispers, just as Aizawa pulls his golden goggles out from under his capture weapon and puts them on, his hair already raising with his quirk. 

“Don’t move,” he shouts, “these are  _ villains! _ ” And Izuku sees the cloud of mist coalesce, becoming something shaped like a man, with a strange silver piece at his neck and two vague eyes. He sees him tilt his head.

“Number Thirteen and Eraserhead,” he says, his voice low and rumbling. “According to the schedule we stole yesterday, All Might was supposed to be here.” His voice is calm, like this is just another day for him. Maybe it is. Izuku realizes, with horror, that this is why the school was infiltrated yesterday. He wonders if warning the school would have been enough for them to stop this trip.

“After all of the trouble we went to,” the man covered in hands says, his voice rough and dry and uncomfortable. “We even gathered all of these idiots... The symbol of peace... isn’t here?” He hisses like a snake, tilts his head back and looks at them with a single red eye. “I wonder if he’ll show up if we kill some of the kids?”

“Sensei?” Yaoyorozu whispers. “What about the alarm system?”

“We have one,” Thirteen replies, standing between them and the villains. “But...”

“They must have someone with a quirk that disables transmissions,” Todoroki murmurs, and Izuku swallows dryly at the thought. “An isolated building away from the school during a scheduled trip... it may seem out of the question, but they must have some solid objective. This is too carefully planned for it to be anything else.”

Izuku hates it, but Todoroki’s right. The break in yesterday was clearly just the last thing they needed for this; it’s too perfect for it to be just a random attack. He wipes his palms on his sports uniform where they’re sweating. 

“Thirteen!” Aizawa shouts. “Complete evacuation procedure. They’re blocking transmissions. Kaminari,” the boy jumps, “try using your quirk to contact the school.” Kaminari freezes, then nods. 

Izuku can’t help himself. He says, “Sensei, a-are you really going to try and fight them alone?” He takes a step forward. “Even if you erase all of their quirks, there’s so many of them. Eraserhead’s style is ambush attacks after erasing their quirk-- like this, you’ll be fighting practically quirkless!”

Aizawa glances back at him with that and says, “A hero always has more than one trick up his sleeve.” He takes a deep breath, and Izuku can see his chest rising even with the distance. “Thirteen, I’m coming on you!” Aizawa jumps, his capture weapon fanning out around him. Izuku watches as Aizawa leaps into the fray, canceling quirks just as villains try to activate them, his capture weapon moving like water between the villains, diving under their legs and tripping them up. Izuku feels a sense of awe fill him.

“Incredible,” he breathes. “I forgot Eraserhead’s speciality was one on group battles...”

“This is no time for analysis!” Iida says from behind him, is voice high pitched with alarm. “We have to evacuate!”

“I’m afraid I can’t allow you to do that,” the mist villain says, all dark and thick and blocking their exit all of a sudden. Izuku jerks back, feels the whole group startle. 

“Greetings,” he says, like he’s saying hello to a new friend. “We are the League of Villains. I apologize for the intrusion, but we’ve invited ourselves into UA in order to encounter the symbol of peace. You see,” he eyes narrow, like he’s grinning, “we were hoping we might extinguish him.” His voice sounds like he’s smiling, too, and Izuku shivers, goosebumps rising on his arms. 

“Ah, well, it seems plans have been altered,” the villain sighs, the mist over what might be his shoulder shrugging. “This is my role.”

The villain begins to swell, to expand, but Izuku blinks and suddenly there’s KAcchan and Kirishima, both throwing punches at the villain. Kacchan’s face is twisted into a nasty grin, and Izuku can see Kirishima’s arm, hard and crackly from his quirk.

“Hah!” Kacchan crows, an explosion bursting from his hand and into the villain. “I bet you didn’t think we’d act before you even moved!”

The two land in fighting stances, facing the villain, but Thirteen pushes in front of them, shoves them back. “You two, get back!”

“That was quite perilous,” the villain says, chuckling. “It’s hard to remember that even if you are students, you are the golden eggs of hero society.”

“Run!” Thirteen screams, bloodcurdling and loud, and Izuku sees the villain swell and expand, a dark swirling mist that quickly overtakes them. 

Izuku raises his arms, tries to block his face, but it doesn’t matter. The mist doesn’t hurt, doesn’t feel like anything other than a sharp, twisting wind. His eyes shut without his permission from the force of it, but it stops as quickly as it started, and he blinks to find himself bathed in daylight in  _ midair _ . 

He can’t help but squeak in surprise, looking below him to see water.  _ The flood zone? _ He thinks, then braces himself. Hitting the water  _ hurts _ , but his uniform protects him from the worst of it, and it’s lukewarm when he sinks into it.  _ Warping _ , he thinks.  _ It’s no wonder they got in. His quirk is warping! _ __

He beats at the water with his hands, orienting himself so that he’s upright. He cracks one eye open, blinking at the sting of the salt water, and then he blanches, a bubble of air escaping his mouth as he jerks back. In front of him, a villain with a clearly shark-based quirk is grinning a mouthful of razor sharp teeth. He watches the villain twist in the water, propelling itself at him, and he clenches his teeth in anticipation. If he dies, maybe he’ll get sent back far enough to warm someone. He can only hope.

He sees a blur of something dark green swoop down from above, and in a flurry of bubbles, the villain is knocked deeper into the water. Izuku blinks as the figure-- Asui-- shoots out a long, pink tongue that wraps tightly around his waist. He doesn’t even have a moment to process before he’s yanked out of the water, Asui’s tongue flicking him up onto something hard and warm.

He blinks, pulling himself up on what must be the deck of a ship, watching Asui pull herself and Mineta over the railing. They’re both drenched, but her hero costume is clearly made to be wet, shedding the excess water easily. She dumps Mineta on the deck, then stands on it herself. 

“Well,” she says, “it looks like we’re in a bit of a pickle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all of the nice comments!! reading them honestly makes my day! i have so much planned for usj that it's defo going to be at LEAST 3 chapters, if not more! ive spent a ton of time planning it so i hope it's fun to read!


	10. usj (part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku has been transported to the flood zone! could this be the work of the weird dry looking dude? almost certainly!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tell me why does it feel like this chapter is super short but it's actually nearly 6k words.... anyway this arc is SO FREAKIN FUN to write, especially since... well, you'll see ;)

“Well,” Asui says, “it looks like we’re in a bit of a pickle.” She reaches up, squeezing water out of her long hair. Izuku reaches up and wipes saltwater from his face with the sleeve of his sports uniform.

“Thanks, Asui, you really saved us there,” he says, blinking the salt out of his eyes. They’re on the deck of a ship in what he assumes is the flood zone, and the surface he’s standing on is some kind of mock-wood made of textured plastic. It’s warm from the bright sun. The water surrounding them reflects the light as it ripples, moving as something underneath the surface swims. 

“Call me Tsuyu,” she croaks. Izuku swallows, watching as a dozen heads rise above the surface of the water, watching them. 

“Yesterday’s break-in wasn’t just the media,” he says, taking a step away from the edge of the ship. “It was a ploy to get information.”

Asui--no, Tsuyu--nods, but it’s Mineta who pipes up, pushing himself off of the deck and shivering. “T-They can’t kill All Might, though, right? That’s impossible. One All Might gets here, he’ll wipe the floor with them!”

Tsuyu’s mouth flattens into a line. “Mineta,” she says. “I don’t think they’d do something like this if they didn’t have a solid plan to kill him. They must have something they could use to kill him.”

Izuku hates it, but she’s right. He remembers that rooftop on the day that his life changed, the red angry scar on All Might’s stomach. He doesn’t know what the villains know-- not yet, anyway-- but he does know that All Might is painfully, painfully mortal. His quirk is powerful, and he’s strong, but he can be killed. 

“If All Might does come, will he be alright?” Tsuyu asks, glances out at the villains watching them from the water. One of them, the shark guy that almost got Izuku when he first teleported here, is grinning a wide smile with too many teeth. 

“M-Midoriya,” Mineta says, voice shaky with fear. He grabs onto Izuku’s pant leg and points at the shark villain.

“Get back here you little rat!” The villain snarls, rearing his head back and laughing. “I’ll kill you!”

Izuku bites his lip, thinking. All Might is an obvious target for villainy in general, but the problem is that not many villains would stand a chance. He’s the symbol of peace, who dissuades villains just by existing, for a reason; he’s difficult to beat. If the villains are targeting him, is it because of his status as the symbol of peace? Or is it for some other reason? Izuku thinks about All Might’s secret, his scar. Could that be done by somebody like the man covered in hands? If someone’s insides were dissolved like that gate, would it make a scar like that, twisted and sunken in and angry?

“Midoriya,” Tsuyu says. “You’re mumbling.”

Izuku blinks, jumps a little. “Sorry!” He takes a breath. “If they’re going to try to kill All Might, if they have a plan to kill him, well... we need to fight back, right?” He gives them what he hopes looks like a determined smile, and he tries to hide the way his hands are shaking. Tsuyu and Mineta look back at him, Tsuyu with a determined set to her face and Mineta with a cast of fear over his, but it’s enough for Izuku. 

“How on earth are we supposed to do that?!” Mineta moans, shaking his head. “If they’re here to kill All Might, we won’t stand a chance!”

“Look at the villains,” Izuku says. “They’re all suited to underwater combat, right? So they knew the layout of the USJ, but they sent Asui,” He glances at Tsuyu, “um, Tsuyu here even though she’s best suited for this area. So, they probably don’t know  _ our _ quirks.”

“That makes sense,” Tsuyu says, ribbiting. “They’re not boarding the ship, either. If they had intel about us, they probably wouldn’t be so careful.”

Izuku nods. “It means they’re not underestimating us, though, so we need to be careful as well.”

“N-None of that matters if we can't win, though!” Mineta says, putting one hand on one of the balls on his head. “My quirk is basically useless, and Midoriya d-doesn’t even  _ have _ one.”

“So?” Tsuyu says, giving him a look. “Midoriya knows how to fight, ribbit. I can leap super high and manipulate my tongue. I can also swim well and empty my stomach contents out of my mouth.”

“I-I can take these balls off of my head and stick them to things! Depending on how I’m feeling, they can stick all day. Oh, and they don’t stick to me,” Mineta says, demonstrating by pulling one of the shiny purple balls off and sticking it to the ship. 

Izuku nods. “Mineta’s right that me being quirkless puts us at a disadvantage here,” he says, glancing at the villains watching them from the water. They seem to have gotten closer, if only by a little bit. “But I think I have an idea. Mineta, how many of those can you produce?”

“A-A lot,” he says, pulling one off his head with a pop. Izuku watches another grow to replace it, almost immediately. “But if I make too many, I’ll bleed.”

Izuku nods. “Okay, I want you to throw a whole bunch of them into the water. Tsuyu, can you come with me? I need to find something heavy.  _ Really _ heavy.” Tsuyu just nods, and Izuku’s grateful for it. 

“You’re leaving me here?” Mineta squeaks, pulling two balls off of his head and tossing them into the water. Izuku notes the way the villains flinch away from them.  _ They can’t hear us talking up here _ , he realizes. 

“It’s just for a second, Mineta,” he says, giving him a smile. “We’ll be right around the corner.”

Tsuyu nods. “Your role is really important, ribbit. We’re counting on you.” 

Mineta nods back, tears welling up in his eyes. “O-Okay! I’ll do my best!” And he turns toward the water, throwing a volley of dark violet orbs into the churning water below. Izuku turns towards the cabin of the ship and jogs toward it, Tsuyu’s footsteps following behind him.

“So what’s your plan?” She asks as he tries the door to the cabin, thankfully finding it unlocked.

“I want to try to stick them all together,” he says, stepping into the cabin, dark and hard to see as his eyes adjust. “But we’ll need some way to draw them all together, and all I can think of is trying to drop something heavy enough to make all the water rush to one spot.”

“Hmm,” Tsuyu says, stepping past him to open a cabinet. “Wouldn’t it work better to make them do it themselves?”

“What do you mean?” Izuku asks, opening a crate on the floor. It’s hard to see much, but the cabin seems to mostly be storage rather than something intended to have passengers. There’s more faux-wood floor and a number of cabinets and crates inside, along with an anchor and lots of rope. It smells too clean to be a real ship, like plastic and cedarwood, not salt and grime.

“Well,” she says. “They’re after us, right? They’d all move to the same spot if one of us is in the water.”

Izuku shakes his head furiously. “No, that’s too risky. Plus, if any of them have long ranged attacks, they won’t approach us in the first place.” He sifts through the cans in the crate, lifting one up to read the description. It’s in english, though, and he isn’t familiar with the words. It has some kind of warning label on it, though, something with a skull and crossbones and a flame. He squints at the label in the darkness, trying to make out any words he knows.

“What’s that?” Tsuyu asks, reaching into the crate and taking out another canister. 

“I’m not sure,” Izuku replies, looking up at her as she examines the label. “I don’t know that word.”

“It’s kerosene, ribbit.” She looks back into the crate. “There was an oil lamp in the cabinet. It’s probably for that.”

Izuku blinks, because he  _ knows _ what to do with flammables. Kerosene floats on water, right? It doesn’t matter if it’ll light the water, either, as long as the villains _ think _ it will. They’ll avoid it, clustering together if they have to to stay safe. If the water is already full of Mineta’s quirk, it’ll make them stick together, locking them in place.

“Good idea,” Tsuyu says, staring at him, and Izuku flushes.

“W-Was I saying all that out loud?” He asks, picking up another can of the kerosene. 

“Yes,” Tsuyu replies. She looks into the crate. “There are only four cans, ribbit. The rest of this is just mineral oil, which won’t burn.” Izuku looks in the crate and realizes that she’s right; the rest of the cans have different text on them, with slightly different colors on the label. They look to be orange and red, but he can’t really tell in the dim light. 

“It doesn’t really matter,” he says. “If we pour the kerosene on the water, it’ll smell like gas anyway, right? The mineral oil will float and look just like the kerosene, so the villains have no way of knowing it’s not the same stuff.” He looks at Tsuyu and grins. “We’re not going to actually set it on fire. We just have to make them think we are.”

Tsuyu nods, setting her bottle down in the crate and lifting the whole thing up. “It wouldn’t be very heroic to set them all on fire anyway, ribbit. Even if they deserve it.”

Izuku lets out a little laugh and nods, walking back out of the cabin. Tsuyu follows behind him, and he can see Mineta out on the deck, blood running down the back of his head.

“Mineta!” Izuku calls. “Are you alright?” He picks up his pace, stopping at the railing and looking down into the water. It’s flooded with Mineta’s orbs, the violet blobs floating and bobbing in the dark water. The villains are avoiding them like they’re bombs, looking uneasily up at Izuku and Mineta. 

“I-I’m trying my best!” Mineta says, and Izuku realizes he’s crying a little. “I’m not going to be outdone by you two!”

Izuku nods, because as weird as Mineta is, he’s integral to this plan. Izuku shows Mineta the canister he’s holding. “We’re going to put this in the water,” he says, and Mineta blinks. “It’s flammable, so we can burn the villains.”

“What!?” a villain shouts from the water below. “You’re going to  _ what?!” _ Izuku resists the urge to smile as the villains start shouting at each other. 

“It’s probably a bluff,” the one with the shark face says, rolling his eyes. Izuku can see the motion even over the short distance. “What would they have on that fake ship that burns, anyway?”

“Kerosene,” Izuku says, holding out the bottle so the english label is turned towards them. “And if you think you’re bluffing,” he says, unscrewing the top of the bottle slowly, the metal lid making a satisfying scraping noise as he does, “come and see for yourself.” He hands the opened bottle to Tsuyu, who nods and takes it in her tongue, sticking the organ out and whipping it through midair, above the villains’ heads. The kerosene sprays out in a fan-like shape, and the villains all seem to swim backwards and away from it, the water churning and mixing. Where the kerosene lands, it glistens in rainbow colors, like an oily puddle on a sidewalk. 

“Get away from it!” One of the villains shouts, swimming furiously back. “If you have gills, that stuff’s bad news!” He backpedals in the water, backing right up into three of Mineta’s orbs where they’ve clustered together. Izuku watches as a look of realization comes over the villain’s face and he jerks to the side, running into a villain with crab claws.

“Hey!” He growls, turning to face the villain who’s now stuck to his left claw. “Watch where you’re going, punk!” The villain swings a claw at the other villain, slapping him in the face. 

Tsuyu nudges him in the side with an elbow. “I’m going to do another one, ribbit.” She angles her head to the left, where the villains are still mostly unclumped. The center of the group seems to be the most disorganized, quickly getting themselves all stuck together in a great violet mass. 

Izuku nods, and reaches down for the second bottle of kerosene. He opens it and passes it to her. This time, her tongue flicks out over the water and dumps the fluid in a neat line, forcing the villains on the far side of the group to dodge towards the center, smashing them into each other. Izuku quickly loses track of any individual villain; between the foam of the water, the flailing limbs, and Mineta’s balls, they’re nearly impossible to keep an eye on. It’s not all of them; a few stray villains seem to have avoided the kerosene and the balls, but at this point, most of Mineta’s quirk seems to have clumped up with the villains in the center. Izuku takes a deep breath.

“I think that’s as good as we’re going to get,” he says, looking to Tsuyu. “Can you get us out of here?”

“I think so,” she croaks. “Hold on tight. I’ll need my tongue to launch us, so I’ll have to hold you two with my arms.” Izuku nods, reaching forward to grab onto her left arm. He feels a little awkward pressing himself into her, her body cool and damp from the water or maybe her quirk. Mineta seems to have no such qualms; he practically launches himself into her.

“Ready?” She asks. Mineta nods, and Izuku hums his agreement. Tsuyu flicks her tongue out and jumps, the pink appendage wrapping around the railing of the ship as she crouches and leaps. Izuku watches, his head turned to see the way she uses her tongue to launch them higher once they’re in the air, sending them sailing over the water. 

“This is amazing!” He shouts, barely audible over the sound of the wind rushing past them. “You can practically fly!”

“It’s very limited, ribbit!” Tsuyu shouts back. “I can't control my trajectory midair.” Izuku glances below them, at the dark water. A little ways back, he sees the mass of villains, still struggling to break free. He trails his gaze over the water, stopping when he sees their shadow.

“Oh no,” he breathes, and he doesn’t think the others hear him but it doesn’t matter. In the water below, a villain is chasing after them, his octopus-like tentacles whipping through the water. Izuku swallows, realizing that they’re slowly losing altitude; soon, they’ll be in his range.

“Tsuyu!” He shouts, looking up at her.

“What is it?” She replies, glancing back down at him. Her eyes widen for a second, and Izuku knows she sees what he did. 

“When I let go,” he says. “Don’t try to catch me!” He can see it already, sooner than he expected-- a gray tentacle, shooting up from the water below them, reaching for Izuku’s ankle. He’s the lowest down of all three of them, what with Mineta and Tsuyu both being shorter than him and all of their heads being at roughly the same height.

“Midoriya, don’t!” She replies, but it’s too late. Izuku feels something strong and wet wrap around his ankle, and he releases his grip on Tsuyu before the tentacle can jerk him downward, yanking him out of her grasp. He hears Mineta scream as he falls, and he can only hope that they make it to land okay. He can’t tell if they’re falling any faster, given the speed at which he’s plummeting to the water. 

He remembers reading, somewhere, that if you fall from high enough up, water feels just like concrete. He isn’t sure if it’s just that he wasn’t quite that high, or if that’s a myth, but hitting the water doesn’t knock him out or kill him immediately. It sends pain through his ankles and knees at the moment of impact, knocks his breath out of his lungs, sure, but he’s still conscious when he’s dragged under the water. He opens his eyes, grimacing at the saltwater, then promptly shuts them again as a tentacle wraps around his chest, squeezing all of the air out of him. He tries to scream as it wraps tighter, as something in his chest cracks and  _ burns _ , but he’s out of air. He isn’t sure if he’s drowning, or if that’s just the feeling of being crushed. 

He’s grateful when his vision slips into blackness.

\--

When he opens his eyes, he’s praying that he’ll see the classroom or the bus or even the outside of the USJ, but what covers his vision is that thick, dark mist. He swallows, feeling a pit of dread in his stomach as the world rematerializes around him, and he braces for the fall into water, but instead finds himself surrounded by heat and light. He blinks, turning to see what has to be the conflagration zone, with red and orange flames curling up around simulation buildings, empty shells of concrete and iron.

“Midoriya!” He turns to see Yaoyorozu, a sheen of sweat already on her skin. She runs toward him, her hand on her stomach as she makes something with her quirk. He feels something like despair inside of him because this isn’t what happens. It’s him and Tsuyu and Mineta in the flood zone, not him and Yaoyorozu in this place. 

It hits him like a ton of bricks, and he breathes, “It’s  _ random _ ,” and it doesn’t matter that Yaoyorozu blinks at him like he’s grown a second head. “They don’t know our quirks. It’s not predetermined. It’s random.” He looks down, stares at his hands. His quirk sends him back in time, but he’s always just assumed everything except for him was  _ constant _ . He didn’t think that it’d be like this, that the random things were still random, that he’d be thrown into a completely different situation. His hands are shaking. 

“What do you mean?” Yaoyorozu asks, pulling a mask from her stomach. “Here, put this on.” She hands it to him. “For the smoke.”

Izuku nods, putting it on. “I-I don’t think they know our quirks,” he says, strapping it into place. “They obviously know all of their own quirks, so we can expect to see some guys with fire related quirks here, but they don’t know ours.”

Yaoyorozu bites her lip, her brows furrowing. “How do you know that?”

Izuku blinks, swallows. “I-If they knew,” he says, glancing around. “Wouldn’t Ts- um, Asui be here too? She’d be vulnerable to fire.”

Yaoyorozu frowns, then nods, putting on her own gas mask. “You’re right. If that’s the case, we need to get out of this zone as quickly as possible. We’re at a huge disadvantage from the environment alone.” As if punctuating her point, a piece of concrete breaks away from the rest of the building behind her, the fire crackling and popping when it falls to the ground with a crash. Sparks and embers are knocked upward, and the pile of rubble it creates starts to spew a black smoke. 

“I can make fire blankets,” she says, fanning her face, “but they’re more for smothering small flames...”

Izuku shakes his head. “We can’t worry about that right now. We have to get out of here as soon as possible, before the villains in the area come after us.”

“Are you sure there’s--” Yaoyorozu is cut off as a blast of fire, thick and bright yellow-orange, comes flying at her from behind. Izuku leaps forward, yanking her down and to the side. They land on the hard, hot ground, and Izuku hisses as he rolls off of Yaoyorozu and onto hot embers. He pushes himself up with his elbow, then looks over to see Yaoyorozu getting up as well, only for another burst of hot flame to shoot out at her. 

“Get down!” He says, but she’s not reacting fast enough. Izuku doesn’t know why he does it-- he just reset, he should get more information first-- but he leaps at her, pushing her out of the way of the blast again. This time, though, he’s caught in it, the blaze pushing into his back and legs just as he tries to flatten himself to the ground and get out of its way. There’s no force accompanying it, so he isn’t blown back, but he catches flame immediately, and he can't help but scream at the pain. He can feel his skin blistering, melting and twisting. Nothing else registers, and Izuku feels himself pushing Yaoyorozu away from him, away from the unnaturally yellow flames that climb around from his back and snake up under his armpits, chasing his throat.

Izuku watches the reflection of the flames in Yaoyorozu’s wide, terrified eyes as he burns to death.

\--

Izuku knows to expect the mist this time, but it doesn’t make the knowledge that he’s going into a dangerous situation, one that’s already killed him twice, any easier. He squeezes his hands into fists and opens his eyes, watching as the mist clears and suddenly his feet are on solid ground. He blinks, glancing around for fire or water or something, and he sees Ojiro looking at him with a confused look on his face and a pair of gloves and shoes that means Hagakure’s here, too.

They’re on some kind of a ledge above a sheer cliff that drops maybe twenty or thirty feet, the ground a rugged brown stone. Izuku sees a few tufts of grass poking out from cracks in the rock, stretching up to get at the light. The mountain stretches onward above them, a series of slopes and sheer cliffs and the occasional ledge. Izuku can see two villains already, one clinging to a sheer cliff with his hands and feet like a lizard, the other with her head and shoulders poking out of the rocks like she’s swimming in it. 

“We’re in the mountain zone,” Izuk says, looking at Ojiro and Hagakure. “We need to defeat the villains here and get to the central plaza, fast.”

Ojiro nods, and Hagakure flashes him a gloved thumbs up. “You take the ones up top,” Ojiro says, flicking his tail at them. “I can get the ones coming from the side.”

Izuku blinks, casting a quick gaze to their left, and sure enough, he sees at least four villains edging along the ledge towards them. He grits his teeth and hopes that Ojiro knows what he’s doing, but he trusts his classmate. When he’d reviewed the tapes from the battle simulation, it had been clear that Ojiro is well trained in combat already, some sort of mixed martial arts that utilizes his tail. 

Izuku sees the sticky-hands villain tense for just a moment, and that’s all the warning he gets before the villain pops off of the cliff above, leaping down at him. Izuku dodges forward, towards the rock wall, only for the villain swimming through the rock to graze him with a kick aimed at his head. He hisses through his teeth and glances between the two of them, trying to figure out how to hit both at once. As a vigilante, he rarely fights more than one person at once, even more rarely in a setting like this. He’s not used to it. 

“Hey, Midoriya,” a voice whispers in his ear, and Izuku just  _ barely _ stops himself from flinching. “Lure one of them to the edge, okay? I can push them off!” He nods, as subtle as he can, then casts his gaze to where Hagakure had been earlier. Her gloves and shoes are on the ground, sitting on the ledge. He can see Ojiro fighting with a villain that looks to be crusted in thick, dried mud, but he forces himself to focus on the battle he’s engaged in. 

He slides away from the wall just as the female villain punches from within it, and Izuk spins so that he’s facing the villain who’d been stuck to the wall. He can see that villain’s blue hair sticking out from under a yellow bandana, and his hands are a bright yellow color, covered in some kind of odd scales. Izuku ducks towards him, feinting at a kick that the villain easily dodges, leaning towards the edge of the ledge. Izuku follows up with a punch, one that doesn’t even come close to hitting but makes the villain step back anyway, flipping his head to flick a piece of loose hair out of his face.

“Jeez, you can't even hit me,” the villain says, rolling his eyes. “I knew y’all were kids, but come--” he cuts off with a scream as suddenly he’s toppling over the side of the ledge, rolling down the sheer slope and grasping desperately at the plant life there. 

“Oof,” Hagakure says, her voice just a few feet in front of Izuku. “I kinda feel bad for that one.”

“That was  _ awesome _ ,” Izuku says, smiling. “But we’ve got another one to take down.” He turns to face the female villain, her head and shoulders poking out of the rock wall in front of them, then the rest of her body slowly emerging. The rock seems to stick to her, almost like it’s a liquid, as she steps out, dropping onto the ground as pebbles.  _ A liquefaction quirk, then? _ Izuku takes a breath, getting into a fighting stance. 

“Hagakure,” he whispers, “if she could move through the floor beneath us, she would already be doing that. I don’t know  _ why _ she can’t, but she probably won’t be able to get underneath us.”

“Ten four,” he hears whispered back at him, and he takes a quick step toward the villain, who just raises an eyebrow at him. Her dark brown hair is short, almost a buzzcut, and her clothing is tight to her skin, thick and clearly protective. Her stance speaks of experience fighting, and Izuku swallows as he charges in, sliding at her feet. 

“Oh, no you don’t!” The villain says, neatly jumping to the side. Izuku pivots to look at her, not waiting before he throws a quick backhand at her face. She blocks it easily with one hand, and Izuku follows up with a knee aimed at her stomach. She grunts when it makes contact, but she doesn’t fall. She throws a kick of her own, one that Izuku barely manages to block with his arm, stopping it from hitting the side of his neck.

Suddenly, the villain makes a choking sound and whips around, probably wondering what hit her. Izuku can see the mark on her neck already turning red, and he silently thanks Hagakure as he takes the opportunity to throw a kick into the villain’s ribs. It hits, and the villain slides to the side before she catches herself, a hand coming up to press on the injured spot. She whips around to look at Izuku, and Izuku can  _ see _ the imprint of Hagakure’s foot where it smacks into the villain’s face. The villain’s eyes roll back into her head, and she crashes to the ground in a heap. 

“Nice one!” Hagakure says. “Let’s go help Ojiro!” Izuku nods and turns around, seeing Ojiro fighting a villain with bird wings in place of arms. There are two villains unconscious beside him, and a third missing altogether. Izuku has a feeling if he looked down the cliff, he’d see them down there. 

Ojiro knocks the bird guy off of the cliff with a well-timed tail slap, but the bird guy gets himself back onto the ledge with just one quick flap of the wings. Izuku jogs up to them, sliding between Ojiro and the wall to kick the bird villain in the stomach. This guy doesn’t seem to have much training, if at all, and he doesn’t even try to block it, gasping as the breath is knocked out of him. Ojiro hooks his tail around the guy’s back and knocks him in the back of the head, taking advantage of his distraction with Izuku, and the man goes down in a flurry of feathers. 

“Thanks for the assist,” Ojiro says, smiling at him. The only sign that he’s been in a fight is the sweat at his brow; there’s not a single sign of being hit on the guy. 

“Y-You’re welcome,” Izuku says, blinking. “You’re so good at fighting!”

Ojiro shrugs, his cheeks heating up a little as he smiles. “Ah, I’ve just been practicing for a long time.” He brushes off his top, stepping away from the two unconscious villains. “So, Midoriya, you said we needed to get back to the central plaza, right?”

Izuku nods. “Right. Um, they’re planning to kill All Might, so they probably have some means to do that. This is too coordinated for them  _ not _ to. So, Aizawa-sensei and Thirteen probably need help.”

Ojiro nods. “Sounds good to me. We should get going before these guys wake up,” he says, pointing his tail back at the unconscious villains. Izuku nods, then looks around for Hagakure. 

“Um, Hagakure, you here?” He asks. Her shoes and gloves are still in the same spot, and without any loose sand on the ground, he can’t really look for tracks or anything. 

“Yup!” Her voice right beside him startles him, and he jumps. “I should probably put my shoes on before we go.” Izuku hears a few faint footsteps, then the shoes start moving, seemingly on their own. It’s strange, watching the shoes move without anyone moving them, especially when Hagakure ties the laces into a neat bow. The shoes plant themselves firmly on the ground, and the gloves come off the ground, moving strangely as Hagakure puts them on. 

“Okay, I’m ready,” she says, giving them two thumbs up. Izuku nods, then glances at Ojiro, who does the same. Izuku turns, looking down the slope and trying to spot footholds. He scans the brown earth, looking at the way it dips and rises in spots, and it clicks.

“It’s the same as buildings,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. 

“You climb buildings?” Ojiro asks with a quirk of his brow, and Izuku shakes his head quickly. 

“Not much, but I thought it would be a useful skill to try and pick up for heroics,” he replies. “It’s not too far of a drop, and it looks climbable.” He doesn’t say that if he dies falling, he’ll get another chance, but that’s on his mind, too. 

“I’ll go last so you two don’t have to worry about knocking rocks down onto me,” Hagakure says, and Izuku blinks. He hadn't even considered that. 

“I’ll go first, then,” Ojiro says. “I have an extra limb, and once I’m down, I can catch either of you if you fall.” Izuku nods, and Ojiro steps towards the ledge, crouching down and lowering himself like he’s climbing down a ladder. In a couple of seconds, his head disappears below the ledge, and Izuku walks up to it, peering down. He sees Ojiro, making quick and steady progress down the slope.

“It’s easier than it looks!” He calls up to them. “I think they designed it with climbing in mind, so nobody would get hurt.”

It makes sense, of course, but Izuku doesn’t let himself breathe out a sigh of relief until Ojiro’s jumping off the last two feet and landing on the ground below the cliff, a patch of bare ground that looks like it surrounds the periment of the mountain zone. Izuku thanks his lucky stars that they teleported near the edge of the mountain zone rather than somewhere harder to climb out of. 

“Okay,” he says to himself, sitting down at the edge of the ledge and dangling his feet over the ledge. He takes a deep breath, then turns himself so his stomach is facing the cliff face and his feet are tucking into the first footholds he can see, fairly wide ones that he can stand on easily with the balls of his feet. When he glances down, he thinks he can see the next place to step, and he moves his left foot down carefully, biting his lip and lowering himself. He realizes that Ojiro’s right; this is easier than it would be in nature, certainly easier than trying (and failing, mostly) to scale buildings. He lowers himself one step at a time, loose pebbles crunching softly under his shoes as he climbs down. It’s hard to see exactly where he’s putting his feet, and it’s nervewracking every time he has to move his hands down, but before he knows it, he feels Ojiro’s tail supporting his back.

“You can jump down, now,” Ojiro says. “It’s only a couple more feet.” Izuku nods, then jumps. The sensation is strange. Usually, when he jumps off of things, he doesn’t land on the ground moments after, alive and on his feet. He blinks. It’s oddly disorienting to be alive. 

“I’m coming down now!” Hagakure calls, and Izuku steps back from the wall, turning back to look at it even though he knows he won’t see much of anything. There’s the occasional falling rock, the occasional spray of dust, and of course her gloves and shoes, moving from foothold to foothold neatly, like they’re not carrying any weight at all. It seems quicker than when he went down, but then again, so had Ojiro’s descent. Izuku thinks it must feel slower when you’re the one on the cliff, when you’re the one in danger. 

Hagakure hops onto the ground before Ojiro gets a chance to help her out, and for just a second, her gloves wave in the air like she’s trying to catch her balance. Ojiro’s tail, sleek and smooth, whips out and steadies her, resting on what Izuku thinks is her shoulder. He sees the motion of her gloves pause, one of them coming to rest on Ojiro’s tail.

“Thanks!” She chirps, and Ojiro nods, saying,

“No problem. Let’s get going.” He removes his tail, wrapping it around his own shoulders, out of the way. Izuku nods, following Ojiro as he starts to walk forward, out of the mountain zone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when u've been forgetting content warnings...  
> cw: just the normal stuff, plus mineta. oh, and fire.
> 
> i hope u enjoyed!!! ive been DYING to write the different zones, and ever since i had the idea about random events not being locked in with his quirk, i knew what i'd be doing for USJ :3 i hope my ojiro and hagakure aren't too ooc-- there's not a lot of them in canon to work from! i like writing the less known classmates, tho
> 
> thank u again for all for the support!!!


	11. usj (part 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku survives the mountain zone with ojiro and hagakure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3 this is the last part of this arc!! ive been dying to write this, so i hope it's fun to read!

Izuku steps forward, around the fence that surrounds the landslide zone. The sounds of fighting are loud now that they’re close to the central plaza, and he clenches his teeth. Ojiro, in front of him, suddenly freezes, taking a step back. 

“Ojiro?” Izuku asks, picking up his pace and stepping closer to him. 

“Sensei....” Ojiro’s face is twisted in horror, and Izuku feels his heart sinking as he follows his gaze across the ground, to a crumpled body, broken and twisted under a strange creature. 

Aizawa is bleeding from one arm, and both of them are clearly broken, the beast on top of him a strange black thing with a long, shining beak and eyes that bulge out slightly. The creature’s brain is exposed, glistening sickly in the light, pulsing and pale. Aizawa’s goggles, bright gold, are lying in the dust, cracked and broken. Izuku can see his hair, damp with dark liquid, tangled in the dust. Izuku swallows.

“No...” Hagakure whispers, her gloved hands wringing together. 

“Hagakure,” Izuku says, quietly. “Take your gloves and shoes off and sneak out. Get help.”

“B-But,” she says, her voice wobbly and wet. “Aizawa-sensei, he’s--”

“He’s not dead,” Izuku says firmly. “Look, he’s breathing.” He tips his head toward where Aizawa is lying, his chest rising and falling too fast to be healthy, but it proves he’s alive and Izuku will take it. 

“Okay,” Hagakure says, one glove dropping to the ground. “Okay.”

“Midoriya, we need to get out of here, too,” Ojiro says, his eyes glued to Aizawa as the teacher raises his head, struggling against the creature’s grasp. The thing’s hands are bigger than Aizawa’s skull, and Izuku can hear its breathing from here, ragged and loud and  _ wrong. _

Izuku shakes his head. “Y-You run,” he whispers. “Go to one of the other zones, find shelter.” The man covered in hands, standing off to the side, approaches Aizawa and the monster. 

“Eraserhead,” he rasps, grinning under the hand on his face. “You can erase quirks, huh? A pretty impressive ability, but,” he reaches up a hand, scratches idly at his neck. “Faced with overwhelming strength, you may as well be quirkless.” He tips his head slightly, and the beast crushes Aizawa’s upper arm in one hand, the snap sickening and loud. Izuku feels bile rise in his throat, and he swallows down the urge to gag.

“I’m not leaving if you’re not,” Ojiro says, and Izuku just nods, his mouth too dry for him to speak. He watches the creature, huge and terrible, pull Aizawa’s head up off the ground. His teacher’s eyes, wide and red with his quirk, briefly meet Izuku’s and Izuku wonders if he’s imagining the pure fear there. Aizawa grunts, struggling for just a moment, then the creature slams his head into the ground, cracking and splintering the concrete underneath him. Izuku covers his mouth to smother the scream that wants to climb out. Aizawa doesn’t move, and Izuku sees dark blood leaking out from where he lies, still on the ground, breathing but just  _ barely _ .

That black mist starts to materialize behind the hand villain, spilling out into the air like ink dropped in water. The hand villain turns. 

“Kurogiri,” he says. “Then Thirteen is dead?”

“I incapatictated her for now,” Kurogiri replies, and Izuku wonders if Aizawa is what they mean by  _ incapacitated  _ or if Thirteen is in even worse shape. “But one of the students has a speed quirk, and he was able to evade my capture. The other students impeded my attempts to stop him, and thus he was able to escape with his life.”  _ Iida! _ Izuku thinks, a bright spark of hope flaring in his chest because he remembers, vaguely, that first time through, where Iida and Shouji dove to the side.  _ If they aren’t transported at all, _ he thinks, taking a shaky breath,  _ it isn’t random! Iida escapes, so we just need to survive long enough for help to arrive. We just need to survive. _

“What?” Ojiro whispers, throwing a confused glance back at Izuku, and Izuku bites his lip, shaking his head. 

“It’s nothing,” he whispers back, cursing his habit of mumbling. He looks at the villain covered in hands, watches as the edge of his expression, barely visible, shifts into something dark and ugly. 

“Huh?” He says, reaching a hand up to his neck, another to his cheek. He folds over just a bit, scratching furiously. Izuku can see one of his eyes, wide open and angry. “If you weren’t our way out,” he hisses, “I would dissolve you right now. There’s no doubts that if pros arrive, we’ll be in trouble.” He groans, low and keening, like he’s in pain. “It’s game over... It’s game over for now.” He pulls his hands away from his neck, and Izuku can see red blood welling up, spreading through the cracking, dry skin. 

“We’ll leave, then.” He says, straightening up and dropping his hands back to his sides. Something about the way he says it, so simply and so plainly, sets Izuku on edge.

“They’re leaving?” Ojiro asks, barely more than a breath. 

“I hope so, but...” Izuku swallows. “It’s a little odd, isn’t it?” Ojiro nods, and Izuku sees his tail curl tighter around his shoulders, like he’s hugging himself. Izuku wishes, briefly, that he could do that, but he settles for taking a deep, steadying breath. 

“Before that,” the hand villain says, turning to look directly at them. “Why don’t we kill a couple of kids?” He lunges for them, jerking forward suddenly, but something seems to stop him, the pants on his legs compressing weirdly as he falls, unbalanced. He lands on his hands and knees on the ground, the earth between his hands cracking and dissolving. The villain whips his head to the side wildly, looking around with blazing red eyes, and Izuku knows  _ exactly _ what just happened.

“I heard that Iida got away,” Hagakure says, somewhere between Izuku and the villain. “And I couldn’t just run, so...”

“Nomu,” the villain growls from his place on the ground, his arms shaking with rage. “Kill her.” His voice is a raspy, terrible hiss, and Izuku moves without realizing what he’s doing, rushing forward. 

He can’t see Hagakure, but he  _ can  _ see the Nomu, that terrible, bird-like beast, as it drops Aizawa and lunges forward, thick saliva dripping from its mouth as it swings wildly at the air. It’s that saliva that tells Izuku where Hagakure is when a spray of it stops strangely in air, like it’s caught on something invisible. Izuku thinks he knows where she is, trapped between the hand villain on the ground and the Nomu lunging for her, and he doesn’t even have to consider it when he shoves her out of the way of the attack. 

The Nomu’s punch hits Izuku in the ribs, just under his raised arm, and he hears rather than feels them break, a series of quick, wet crunches that reverberate through his body. He feels foamy blood rise from his throat when he lands on the ground and tries to gasp in air. It doesn’t work, and his chest feels heavy and full, like someone’s standing on him. He watches, through half-open eyes, as Aizawa hauls himself up where he’s lying on the ground, and his last thought before passing out is  _ thank goodness, he can save Ojiro and Hagakure. _

\--

Izuku opens his eyes in the black mist, his head pounding with pain, hot and dry and thick. He lands on his knees, and he knows he’s back in the conflagration zone from the heat surrounding him, from the hot lick of fire against his skin. He gives himself a shake and stands up, squinting against the brightness of the heat while his eyes adjust.

“Dude, you okay?” Izuku sees Kaminari staring at him, standing a couple of feet away on a piece of relatively unburned piece of concrete. He’s got a hand on the earpiece he has, and Izuku can see some bright sparks flickering between the device and his hand. 

“Y-Yeah,” he says, straightening up. “We need to get out of here, there are villains with fire quirks hiding.” He brushes his hands off on his pants, forcing himself to breath evenly. His head is aching, and he wonders if it’s from the bright light around him or just from stress.

“Whoa, really?” Kaminari says, glancing around. “We’d better run, then. I’m not great in combat.” He raises a hand and starts to fan his face. “Plus, I think this place would be dangerous even without villains.”

“What do you mean you’re not good in combat?” Izuku grabs the sleeve of his uniform and pulls, ripping off a long strip of fabric. He can’t make gas masks like Yaoyorozu did, but this will have to be enough. “Wrap this around your nose and mouth, to block the smoke.” He holds it out. The light from the flames makes strange patterns on Kaminari’s face, like a puppet show of red and gold. 

Kaminari blinks, taking the piece of fabric and wrapping it around his head, tying it in the back. “Thanks, dude,” his voice is slightly muffled by the fabric. “And I can’t, like, control my electricity. I can either have it on myself or just discharge everywhere, so it’d hit you too.” Izuku nods, ripping another piece of fabric off of his other sleeve and tying it over his face. It’s tight and uncomfortable, not at all like his vigilante mask, really, but it still feels comforting and familiar. 

“Let's just run, then,” Izuku says, starting in the direction he knows the central plaza is in. “The villains will have the advantage here, so it’s best if we get out of the fire.”

“Okay, I agree, but how do you know all of this?” Kaminari starts following Izuku, stepping around flaming debris and jogging a little to keep up. 

“I just do,” Izuku says, shaking his head. He knows he should try and come up with a better excuse, but his head feels wrong, painful and fuzzy. He thinks it must be from the smoke; doesn’t fire make carbon monoxide? They need to get out of here, before it gets worse. Izuku feels like he hasn’t slept in days, like his head is going to burst.

“I dunno, I don’t feel anything like that,” Kaminari says, and Izuku realizes that  _ again _ , he’s been mumbling aloud. “Did you hit your head when the warp guy transported you? You seemed kinda out of it when we first got here, too.”

“I don’t think so,” Izuku says, but he frowns. He doesn’t have time to worry about this right now, but this is the most times he’s ever reset in such quick succession. He can’t think about this right now though, not knowing that Aizawa is fighting for their lives already. 

“Oh, running away?” A voice, young and female, speaks from Izuku’s left, and he grits his teeth and dodges as a blast of that familiar yellow fire comes out from being a burning building. The villain, a woman in her twenties with braided black hair and dark skin, raises a hand wreathed in those same flames. 

“Kaminari,” Izuku hisses, picking up his pace. “Don’t get hit. That fire’s not normal, it’s  _ sticky _ or something.” He reaches down as he runs, wrapping his hand under a piece of iron rebar that sticks up from the ground. It takes him a moment, a precious second, but he rips it free from the burnt concrete it’s half embedded in. The heat clinging to the metal singes his palms, but he doesn’t let himself slow down. 

“Gah!” Kaminari yelps, and Izuku glances back to see him jumping over a fiery blast aimed at his feet. “You weren't kidding about the villains, huh!?”

“Nope,” Izuku growls, turning back and tossing the long piece of metal rebar through the air at Kaminari. “Use this!” He says, turning to run again the second he sees Kaminari catch it in a gloved hand. 

“Smart!” Kaminari says, and Izuku doesn’t have to look back to see the burst of yellow light and hear the sizzle of energy. He can only pray it took down the villain as he keeps running, listening to Kaminari’s footsteps behind him. 

“Do you think there are more?” Kaminari asks, and Izuku bites his lip. 

“I don’t know,” he says, keeping running as Kaminari draws even with him. “But this zone is the most dangerous, so it makes sense they’d send the least number here.”

“Ah jeez, should we go help everyone in the other zones?” Kaminari says, his face twisted with worry. “They could be in trouble.”

Izuku shakes his head. “Aizawa-sensei needs our help more. He can’t hold out against that many enemies for so long, not alone.” He jumps over a piece of rubble that sticks out from the ground. 

“Okay,” Kaminari says, his voice hesitant. “I dunno where you’re getting all this information, but...” He shrugs, and Izuku feels a pang of guilt. 

“I’ll explain when this is all over,” he says, knowing full well that he likely won’t make it to the end of this, not if it’s like his other runs. Mentally, he apologizes to Kaminari, praying that eventually, he can make it up to him. 

Izuku steps forward, around a small pile of rubble, and he sighs in relief when he sees the end of the conflagration zone, the pavement that makes up the ground between the zones stretching out in front of them. Izuku steps onto it, turning back to see Kaminari stepping out of the fiery mess, pulling his makeshift mask off of his face and using it to wipe sweat from his brow. 

“Wow, it feels cold out here by comparison,” Kaminari says, and Izuku agrees. His skin feels irritated and hot from the flames, but the air here feels soft and cool. 

“It does,” Izuku says then starts walking. “Let’s go! Aizawa-sensei is counting on us.”

“Right!” Kaminari says in response, catching up with Izuku and keeping pace with him. Izuku sees the scene ahead, and it’s different than last time, different enough that for a moment he’s struggling to place whether it’s before or after. Then, he sees Aizawa, in a fighting stance with his goggles on and intact as he yanks on his capture weapon and it tightens around the throat of a villain who reaches their arms up to try and get free.  _ We made it before he got injured _ , he thinks, breathing a sigh of relief and picking up his pace. 

He sees Aizawa dodge out of reach as the hand-covered villain swipes at him, his capture weapon fluttering in the air. Izuku grits his teeth as he watches them fight. 

“Sensei!” Izuku shouts as he runs towards them. “He’s got a disintegration quirk. Don’t let him touch you!” He doesn’t see Aizawa react, but Izuku’s sure he heard because when the hand villain lunges for him again, he dodges further back, completely avoiding the attack rather than blocking, even though that would have been easier. 

“Oh, who’s this?” The villain says, looking over at Kaminari and Izuku. “Some of your brats, Eraserhead?”

“Who are you?” Izuku shouts, ignoring the way Kaminari is nervously whispering for him to shut up. “Why are you trying to kill All Might?” Izuku stops walking about thirty feet from the villain and Aizawa, standing firm. 

“We’re the League of Villains,” hand guy says, turning to look at him. “And I’m Shigaraki Tomura. If you haven’t heard of us before, well, soon  _ everybody _ will know us as the ones who destroyed the symbol of peace.” He laughs, hopping to the side when Aizawa attacks him with a kick. “Careful, Eraserhead. You’re pretty cool, but even you have to blink eventually, hm?” Shigaraki whips a hand out, lightning quick, and it contacts Aizawa’s shoulder. The fabric there starts to decay and flake, and Izuku hears Aizawa hiss in pain, but the disintegration ends as quickly as it began.  _ He’s erasing it, _ Izuku thinks with relief.  _ We might stand a chance, with Aizawa’s quirk. _

“And to answer your earlier question, Eraserhead,” Shigaraki says, jumping back with an eerie smile on his face. “I’m not the most dangerous one here. No, that would be  _ him _ .” 

Shiragaki gestures with both hands. “Nomu! Come and kill Eraserhead for me, will you?” He shouts, and that horrible, giant beast from last run lurches to its feet from behind the unconscious bodies of some villains, heaped up where Aizawa must have taken them down. Izuku swallows down his fear as it rears up, charging towards Aizawa. It moves like it’s a little unbalanced, like its limbs are too heavy for its body, but Izuku knows what will happen if Aizawa fights it. He remembers the image of his teacher, bloody and broken on the ground. He can’t let that happen. 

“No!” He shouts, propelling himself forward and into the path of the Nomu’s attack. He knows to block with his limbs this time, to not let it hit his chest, and so he catches the punch with his forearms in the best block he can muster mid-leap. He feels the bones in his arms snap like twigs, and he bites his tongue to avoid screaming as he’s sent flying onto the ground, sliding across the pavement before stopping just a few feet in front of Aizawa.

“Midoriya, what the hell are you doing!?” Aizawa growls, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Fuck,” he says, seeing Izuku’s arms, bent in the wrong places and already turning a violent red-purple color. “I’ll get you out of here, just  _ stay down _ and don’t do that again,” he says, voice barely more than a low whisper. Izuku blinks through the pain, thinking that it’s kind of odd for Aizawa to say that, given that the man hates Izuku, but he pushes it out of his mind. 

“R-Run,” Izuku says. “G-Get out of here... It’ll kill you.” His voice is rough with adrenaline and pain, and he sees Aizawa grit his teeth and open his mouth to say something, but the Nomu’s fist comes down between them and Aizawa leaps out of the way, his capture weapon dragging Izuku back and out of danger. 

Izuku watches the Nomu lunge with its other hand, grabbing Aizawa’s elbow, yanking him up, high above its head, and  _ flinging him _ into the ground. Aizawa hits the ground with a sound that makes Izuku choke on his own breath, the concrete cracking on impact. Izuku sputters, trying to pull himself to his feet, as the Nomu stomps a large foot down on Aizawa’s back, and Izuku knows from the way Aizawa is bent that his back is broken at the chest. He can’t see Aizawa moving, can’t see him struggling or breathing or  _ anything _ , and Izuku realizes he’s screaming, a high, unsteady sound. 

“Him next,” Shigaraki says, like he’s bored, and the Nomu lurches toward Izuku, stumbling like it’s drunk. Izuku makes eye contact with it, sees the way its wide eyes don’t react at all to his face, to the way he’s crying and screaming. 

He doesn’t try to dodge the punch it throws at his face, and he’s gone the second it hits him.

\--

Izuku notices the pain before the mist this time, a burning, aching pain in his stomach and head that worsens with his heart beat, pounding through his body. He lands on all fours, the ground here covered in a thin layer of water, the sound of heavy rain and wind filling his ears. Izuku reaches up to cover up his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut as he gags at the pain, the way he feels himself sway. His eyes shoot open and he pulls his hand back just in time as he vomits onto the wet concrete, excelling stomach acid streaked through with something dark red. He coughs, sputtering, and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. 

“Midoriya!” He hears Yaoyorozu’s voice, loud and upset. “Are you okay? What’s going on?” Izuku glances up to see her and Todoroki standing beside him, alarmed looks on their faces. Izuku shakes his head and stands up, wobbly on his feet.

“I-I get motion sick,” he says, and they glance at each other. 

“You just threw up blood,” Todoroki points out, and Izuku shakes his head again, swallowing down the nausea that starts to rise again. 

“I’m fine,” he says, voice shaky. “Really.” He sees Yaoyorozu open her mouth, like she’s going to argue, but the sounds of feet running on top of shallow water interrupts her. Izuku turns to see villains, at least a dozen of them, coming out from between the mock buildings and surrounding them. 

“Here they are,” one of them saying, smirking. “Let’s be nice and share, eh? Let everyone get some fun.” He steps forward, cracking his knuckles, and Izuku hears Todoroki sigh beside him. 

“I don’t have time to deal with this,” he says, raising his right hand. Silver-blue ice crackles over the ground, climbing up the villains’ feet and freezing them all in place. Izuku blinks as the rain in the area momentarily is turned to hail, falling into the thin layer of water on the ground and splashing slightly. Todoroki doesn’t even seem phased as he sighs again, a thin mist coming out with his breath. 

“We need to get to the exit and help others evacuate,” Todoroki says, and Izuk nods. His head and stomach are still aching, and every part of his body feels hot and sluggish, but he can think clearly now that he’s adjusted.  _ I guess I’ve found the limits of my quirk _ , he thinks.  _ If I reset to the same place too many times, it seems to make me sick _ . He doesn’t know for  _ sure _ that that’s what’s wrong, but nothing else makes sense. He’ll have time to analyze himself later. 

“Are you sure you’re okay, Midoriya?” Yaoyorozu is giving him a look. “You’re awfully pale.”

Izuku nods. “I’ll be fine. Todoroki’s right, we need to go help Aizawa-sensei.” She pauses, then nods. The three of them start to move forward, running through the water. It’s louder than the other zones, here, even louder than the conflagration zone with the crackling and roaring of the flames. Here in the downpour zone, the wind is whipping around the buildings so fast that it howls, and the rain is a constant buzz. Izuku feels every footstep in his bones, his body aching. He has to cover his mouth with a hand to avoid throwing up again, and he can tell from the way Yaoyorozu keeps glancing over at him that she can tell. 

The get to the exit of the zone quickly, approaching the large door that marks the end of the dome encircling the area. Izuku wonders, briefly, if it’s locked, but Todoroki kicks it open so easily that it must not have been. They run out of the area and onto the concrete, the bright light hitting them unfiltered. It sears Izuku’s eyes, and this time he can’t help but stop in his tracks, stumbling and leaning over to throw up again. This time, it’s mostly just dry heaving, a thin line of sticky blood dripping from his mouth to the ground. He spits, trying to get the metallic taste out of his mouth. 

He looks up to see Yaoyorozu and Todoroki looking at him, stopped a few feet past where he’d thrown up. Yaoyorozu is easy to read, alarm and concern on her face, but Todoroki just looks generally dark, his lips a thin line that could be a frown. Izuku wipes his mouth on his hand again, then wipes his hand on the pants of his uniform. He’s damp from the rain; they all are, dripping dark spots of water onto the concrete. Izuku takes a shaky breath. 

“I’m good now,” he says, and he starts running forward again before they can question it. Izuku thinks that this is going to be  _ really _ hard to explain later, if he survives this. He focuses on the slap of his feet against the concrete, cursing the way this zone seems to be the furthest from the central plaza. He hopes they get there in time. 

They get there at the moment that Shigaraki and Aizawa are fighting, and Izuku watches Aizawa throw an elbow strike that Shigaraki blocks with his hand. Izuku winces as Aizawa’s elbow crackles and breaks, unraveling into tiny pieces. He hears Yaoyorozu’s gasp, watches Shigaraki move like he’s saying something.  _ We’re almost there _ , Izuku thinks. 

“Nomu,” Shigaraki says. “Kill him.” Izuku sees the Nomu stand, lurching to its feet, and he knows what’s going to happen before it does, of course he does. But he also knows that if he charges at the Nomu, it won’t save Aizawa. Aizawa will try too hard to protect him, even at the expense of his own life. The only thing jumping into the fray would do is get him killed again, and he doesn’t know if he’d make it another time. So, instead of putting himself between the Nomu and his teacher, he leaps out, jumping at Shigaraki. He feels his head throb with the motion as he lobs a punch at Shigaraki’s head.

The villain sidesteps his punch, hair whipping in the air. His face is twisted in a scowl as he reaches for Izuku, barely touching all five fingers to Izuku’s shoulder. The clothing there flakes and dissolves, but Izuku pulls away before the decay spreads to his skin.

“Hey, Shigaraki,” he says, forcing a smirk onto his face even though he feels like throwing up because that was  _ too close _ . “Mad that your final boss isn’t here yet?”

Shigaraki’s eyes widen the slightest bit, and he makes a whining sound, like an angry child, then steps towards Izuku. Out of his peripheral vision, Izuku watches the Nomu slam Aizawa down, breaking his arm and crushing his face against the concrete. Izuku swallows, knowing it could be worse. It could  _ always _ be worse. Aizawa is still breathing, still moving, his back unbroken. It could be worse. Izuku looks at Shigaraki again, not resisting as Shigaraki grabs at his neck, gripping his throat with all but one finger, his pinky held away from the skin. Izuku can feel his heartbeat in his temple as Shigaraki squeezes for a few seconds, then loosens his grip so it’s relaxed, his fingers ghosting over Izuku’s skin.

“How’d you know my name?” Shigaraki asks, and Izuku shrugs, exaggerating the gesture. He reaches up, wraps his hand around Shigaraki’s wrist. The skin is warm and dry, papery and flaking. He stares into Shigaraki’s eyes, red and lined with irritated skin. Izuku tips his head slightly, leaning his neck into Shigaraki’s grip.

“Are you going to kill me?” He says, voice low and steady. “It won’t matter.” He licks his lips, watches Shigaraki blink slowly, like the motion hurts. Izuku can feel adrenaline rushing through his veins, and he hopes Shigaraki can’t feel his racing pulse.

“What do you mean, it won’t matter?” Shigaraki asks, his lips quirking up in a smirk. “It’ll hurt your precious symbol of peace and your teacher, won’t it?”

Izuku shrugs, takes a step forward. Shigaraki lets him, his arm bending at the elbow but keeping his loose, four-fingered grasp on Izuku’s throat. Izuku squeezes Shigaraki’s arm, digs his nails into the skin. 

“They won’t mind, if it’s me,” Izuku says simply, casting a quick glance to Aizawa where he lays, collapsed on the ground with his bloodied face turned to look at Izuku. One of his eyes is swollen shut, coated in clotting blood, and the other is its normal black color, his quirk not activated. Izuku knows he’ll come back, if he dies, but Aizawa doesn’t, and it surprises Izuku to see fear in his eyes. 

“Why not?” Shigaraki says, reaching up a hand to touch Izuku’s face. He places his thumb and first two fingers on Izuku’s cheek, a gentle threat.

“I’m quirkless,” Izuku says, smiling and narrowing his eyes, meeting Shigaraki’s gaze easily. “The only reason I’m still at this school at all is that I haven’t given them a good enough reason to kick me out yet,” he says, knowing it’s true. He doesn’t have to work hard to summon the bitterness in his voice, thinking back to that first day of class where Aizawa expelled him but not Mineta. As much as UA is his dream, it’s still the real world. He wouldn’t be missed, and if Shigaraki doesn’t know that this is a bluff, a ploy to make him think Izuku is sympathetic to his cause, well, that’s just fine. 

“I  _ like _ this one,” Shigaraki says, lips cracking as he grins, showing bone-white teeth that peek out from chapped lips. “You’d die for them, even though they don’t like you?” he asks, dropping his hand from Izuku’s face.

“I’d die a  _ hundred _ times for them,” Izuku replies easily, because it’s true. Even if they don’t care about him, even if they wouldn’t do the same, Izuku will die for them until he finds a way to get to the end with all of them alive. “I’d do it for strangers, too. That’s why I’m going to be a hero.”

Shigaraki snorts, his face dropping into a sneer. “A hero? Really?” He tightens his grip on Izuku’s neck, and Izuku feels pressure build in his head, sharpening his headache and making the edges of his vision go red and fuzzy. Izuku gasps a wheezing breath, his hand on Shigaraki’s wrist tightening as he starts to struggle, his body thrashing and resisting without him telling it to. 

“I’m going to have fun killing you,” Shigaraki growls, and Izuku squeezes his eyes shut, trying to will himself to calm down and trying to get his body to stop jerking against Shigaraki’s grip. If he knocks against Shigaraki’s pinkie, it’s all over. 

“Fear not!” A deep, booming voice fills the space, and Shigaraki drops Izuku. “For I am here!” Izuku lands on the ground, coughing. He can hear All Might’s voice, can hear some kind of fight start, but he can’t even lift his head off of the ground where he’s lying. His head pounds with an unnatural intensity, his vision going out with every frantic beat of his heart, and his breath is still choked and wheezing as he struggles to fill his lungs. 

He cracks an eye open to see a blur, and he feels himself being lifted off the ground and moved quickly, like that time he’d grabbed onto All Might’s leg. He’s set down on the ground gently, on his side, and then All Might’s gone. Izuku blinks, his vision blurring as he breathes. He sees a familiar face and a head of short brown hair. 

“Deku,” Uraraka says, her voice high with worry. “What happened? Are you okay?” Izuku glances past her and sees Tsuyu crouched next to Aizawa, who seems to be conscious, sitting up and clutching the right side of his face while Tsuyu wraps his elbow with fabric. 

“G-Get Aizawa-sensei out of here,” he says, gasping. His mouth fills with saliva, but he swallows it down and tries not to throw up. “I’m okay.” He’s panting, he knows, and Uraraka’s brows draw together. 

“We’re going to get  _ both  _ of you out of here, okay? Just stay awake,” she says, and Izuku wonders, vaguely, why she’s telling  _ him _ to do that. Aizawa’s the one with the head wound, with his right eye swollen and crushed, his skin there red and violet and black. Izuku hopes it doesn’t destroy his eye. What if Eraserhead loses his quirk?

He watches Aizawa lurch to the side, watches Tsuyu catch him as he loses consciousness, alarm on her face, and he reaches out a hand, watching his own fingers shake. 

“A-Asui...” he groans, blinking. “I-Is he...?”

Tsuyu glances back at him, her face grim. “He’s alive, ribbit. Just unconscious. And you can call me Tsuyu, Midoriya.”

Izuku hums in agreement, letting his hand fall to the ground. He did it. Aizawa’s alive, and help is on its way. They’re going to make it out. He suddenly hopes, that if whatever’s wrong with his body kills him, he won’t reset. That he’ll stay dead, that the others will get to keep this run. He blinks, his vision refusing to focus. 

“Ur...raraka,” he says, and he feels a hand wrap around his. “‘M gonna... pass out...”

“Try to stay awake,” Uraraka says, but her voice is distant, like he’s underwater. “Deku!” He feels her squeeze his hand, and it refocuses him for just long enough to see the gates of the USJ open, Snipe and Ectoplasm stepping inside the open doors. He sighs in relief and lets his eyes fall shut.

\--

Izuku opens his eyes, blinking against the bright light that fills them. He feels a pounding in his head, like he’s been hit with a sledgehammer, and as he glances around the room, seeing an IV drip and a heart monitor machine beside him, he registers the way his chest and stomach ache, the way he’s shaking the tiniest bit even under the pale blue hospital blanket draped over him.

“Izuku!” His mom’s voice is a quiet, desperate whisper, and he blinks, shifting his head to see her standing at his bedside. Uraraka and Iida are standing next to her, and Izuku slowly recognizes the buzz of voices and movement around him. 

“Where...?” he tries to ask, his mouth dry and sticky. 

“We’re in the emergency department,” Iida says, his hands gripped tightly on the railing of Izuku’s bed. Izuku sees his mom’s hand over his own, Uraraka’s gripping the railing next to Iida’s. He blinks.

“Is anyone else h-hurt?” He asks, looking into their eyes and watching Uraraka shake her head, tearing welling up in her eyes. 

“Only you, Aizawa-sensei, and Thirteen were seriously hurt,” Iida replies for her, glances over at her. “Aizawa-sensei is in surgery, but they think he’ll make a full recovery. Thirteen is...” he swallows visibly, his throat bobbing. “They’re optimistic she’ll survive, but they don’t know for sure.”

Izuku nods, the motion hurting his head. He looks at his mom, the way her eyes are wide and there are damp tear tracks going down her cheeks, her nose rubbed raw like she’s been crying for hours.

“Sorry, mom,” he says, squeezing her hand where it’s holding his. “I’m okay, now.”

She nods, a sob shaking her shoulders. “W-When they said you were injured, that they didn’t know why, I-I just--”

“I’m okay,” he smiles at her. “I’m sorry I scared you.” She just nods, wiping at her tears with her free hand, and Izuku feels a burst of guilt in his chest for doing this to her.

“What happened, Midoriya?” Uraraka asks, her voice wet. “T-They said your only clear injury was from, um, strangulation, but that it looked like you’d been hit by a quirk of some kind.” She bites her lip, her eyes wet.

“I don’t know,” Izuku replies, reaching up with his free hand to feel at his neck. “How long have I been out?”

“About four hours,” Iida says. “They treated your neck injuries already, but you have a nasty bruise.”

Izuku nods, putting his hand back down by his side. “Everyone’s okay? For real? We made it out?” He watches their faces, thinks about how many ways he saw others nearly die and how he saw Aizawa, broken and bloody.

Uraraka nods, a small smile on her lips. “For real,” she whispers. “We made it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: vomit, hospitals, temporary major character death, strangulation
> 
> i hope you enjoyed!!!! thank you all for all of the support; comments feed my intense need for positive attention. for everybody who guessed that izuku's quirk had some kind of limit, you were right!! i'll explore it more further on, but :3


	12. recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku survived the usj by being a badass and arguing with shiggy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> help how did this get so long

Izuku sits in his bed, playing a game on his phone. They’d moved him into a private room on his second day here, deciding to keep him for further observation, even though he’d insisted he was okay to recover at home. There’d been words tossed around like  _ inflammation _ and  _ intracranial pressure _ and  _ aplastic anemia _ . They’d given him two bags of blood, which had scared his mom so much she’d fallen asleep on him, crying.

He’d been questioned extensively, too, both about the quirk that was making him sick and what happened at the USJ. He’d told them, of course, that he doesn't know who got him, how the quirk was transferred to him. The police were anxious, and the medical staff were curious, explaining to him that the quirk that had affected him was damaging only his fast-replicating cells, like chemotherapy or radiation. Being able to inflict that on someone else would be devastating, they said. He was lucky it was fading as he healed, that his bone marrow and his stomach lining were repairing themselves and the pressure in his brain (they still weren’t sure why that happened--nerves aren’t fast replicating--but there were theories full of medical terms he didn’t understand) went down fast enough that they didn’t need to do surgery. 

Izuku doesn’t think it’s luck, but he does think that he’ll need to be more careful with his quirk. Killing himself once or twice is fine, but if he’s in a dangerous situation, he needs to die as little as possible. What if he’d died another time, and his body hadn’t survived it? Would he still reset? Or would he stay down after his quirk killed him? He doesn’t want to find out.

The sound of someone clearing their throat startles Izuku, and he looks up, blinking. Aizawa is standing in the doorway to his room, wearing a grey t-shirt and black sweatpants. His right eye is covered in white gauze, yellowing bruise peeking out from underneath, and his left arm is in a sling, but he’s not hooked up to anything and he’s not wearing a hospital bracelet.  _ He’s been discharged, _ Izuku notes, a soft bloom of relief in his chest. 

“Midoriya,” Aizawa says, looking around. “Is your mom here?”

Izuku shakes his head. “I made her go home to rest,” he answers, locking his phone and setting it on the table beside his bed. Aizawa nods, stepping into the room and sitting in the chair already pulled up beside the bed. His hair’s tied back, something Izuku hasn’t seen before, and it makes him look younger for some reason.

“We need to talk,” Aizawa says, leaning forward and resting his uninjured arm on his knee. “I’m assuming you already know why.” Izuku does. He’s been dreading it, hoping it wouldn’t happen.

Izuku swallows. “Y-You’re going to expel me,” he says, and Aizawa’s eyes widen for a second before he sighs, reaching up to massage his temple.

“No, I’m not going to expel you,” he says, voice low and rough. “I was going to ask you about what you said to Shigaraki.”

Izuku blinks. “Oh,” he whispers, taking in Aizawa’s face. He looks tired, sure, but there’s something bitter and concerned in his features. His stubble is longer than normal, and Izuku bets he can’t shave with the bandages on his face. 

“Yeah,” Aizawa says. “I  _ was _ going to ask if you meant what you said, but if you thought I was going to expel you, I have a feeling the answer is yes.” He meets Izuku’s gaze with his one available eye. 

“I, um.” Izuku fidgets with his hands, looking away from Aizawa. “I-It’s okay,” he says. “W-We don’t have to talk about it.” He desperately, desperately hopes Aizawa will drop it, because even though he knows Aizawa doesn’t like him, thinks he’s unfit for UA, thinks he’s useless and quirkless, he doesn’t want to  _ hear it _ . 

“I think we do, actually,” Aizawa says. “You think that UA--that me and All Might--want you gone because you’re quirkless. That we’d be fine if you died.” 

Izuku shrugs, picks at a loose thread from the blanket. He hears Aizawa sigh, long and deep, but he doesn’t look up, instead choosing to stare at his hands.

“I would  _ not _ be okay with you dying,” Aizawa says, and it startles Izuku into looking up at him, to seeing his face, serious and unyielding. “And I don’t want you out of my class for any reason, especially not your quirkless status.”

“R-Really?” Izuku asks, because it’s all he can ask. He waits to see amusement or cruelty on Aizawa’s face but it isn’t there. He stares back at Izuku, nods.

“I don’t want  _ any _ of my students to die. You’re my responsibility, and I take that very seriously. I was willing to die to save you and your classmates at the USJ,” he says, and Izuku has to shut his eyes when he says that because he  _ knows _ , he watched Aizawa’s face get slammed into the ground hard enough to crack his skull, watched Aizawa’s back get snapped in two by the Nomu. Izuku takes a deep, shuddering breath and opens his eyes again. Aizawa looks back at him, solemn. 

“I don’t know what I did to give you the impression that I’m biased against the quirkless,” Aizawa says, keeping eye contact as he does, “but I have no bias against you or any other quirkless person. I owe you an apology for the fact that I’ve led you to believe that wasn’t the case.”

“The f-first day,” Izuku says, biting his lip. “The quirk assessment test.”

Aizawa tilts his head slightly, his brow furrowing. “What?”

“That’s why,” Izuku says, shrugging. “It was an obvious ploy to get rid of me, and you’d assumed I would get last place. But you didn’t expel Mineta, since he’s got a quirk, so it was just to get at me.” He looks at Aizawa’s bandaged eye, not his open one. The gauze is clean, fresh. He wonders if it was changed this morning.

“I wouldn’t have expelled you, either, if you’d gotten last, Midoriya,” Aizawa says, and Izuku clenches his fists around handfuls of the blanket.

“You’re  _ lying _ ,” he hisses, looking down and away from his teacher. “You would have. If I hadn’t asked Uraraka for help and I’d just tried my best instead, you would have expelled me.” There’s a pause, a moment where Izuku wonders if this is it. If Aizawa will admit it and expel Izuku and it’ll all be over. Izuku briefly considers killing himself, just for the relief it gives, but pushes the thought away. He needs to be healed, first. Once his body recovers, once he’s back to normal, he knows he can die one or two times and be okay. 

“You’re right,” Aizawa says. “But I wouldn’t if you’d asked her for help like you did and gotten last anyway.” Izuku looks up at him, sees the thoughtful look on his face and frowns.

“What do you mean?” Izuku asks, his tone almost demanding. 

“Every year, I expel students who I judge to have a mindset that is dangerous to themselves or others, should they be placed in the field,” Aizawa says. “Last year, I expelled the whole class. I re-enrolled them a week later, when it had sunk in that being reckless or not taking heroics seriously had consequences.”

“What?” Izuku whispers, blinking. He’d killed himself for nothing? Aizawa was just teaching him a  _ lesson? _

“If you’d tried your best on every exercise but not thought outside the box like you did, I probably would have expelled you for a few days, then re-enrolled you and told you that since you’re working at a disadvantage, you can’t always just try your best and expect to win. You need to be better and smarter than your peers if you want to survive.” Aizawa’s lips quirk up into a small smile. “You don’t seem to have a problem with that, though. If anything, I’d say you think outside of the box by default.”

“How could you not consider what that would  _ do _ to me?” Izuku says before he can think better of it, and Aizawa blinks in surprise, reeling back slightly at the venom in his tone. “I’m  _ quirkless _ . All Might, my  _ idol _ , told me I should give up on being a hero. My  _ mom _ didn’t believe I could be a hero. I got into UA,” he’s practically snarling at this point, but he can’t help himself. “And I got in by fighting tooth and nail through  _ everyone _ and  _ everything _ working against me. And you-- you would have expelled me to teach me a lesson? You would have let me think for  _ days _ that my dream had finally been crushed once and for all, that there was no chance of me being a hero, because it’d make me  _ think outside the box?” _ Izuku clenches his fists, feels the blood drain out of them. He swallows, jaw clenching, before he says, “How could you  _ do  _ that to someone?”

Aizawa’s eyes are wide, and Izuku feels a rush of fear and guilt hit him because he’d just yelled at a  _ teacher _ and a  _ pro hero _ , not to mention the person who quite possibly holds the most power over his life and future right now. The person who’d been willing to die for him, willing to have his face smashed into a bloody mess. Izuku swallows, blinking against the rising anxiety.

“You’re right,” Aizawa says, startling Izuku. “And I’m sorry. It was wrong of me, and I made you think that you couldn’t trust me, that I considered you unimportant or unworthy because of your quirk.” He meets Izuku’s gaze, deadly serious. “It was wrong of me, and I apologize.”

Izuku opens his mouth to reply, but instead, a sob rises in his throat, and he realizes in horror that he’s  _ crying _ , tears suddenly building up in his eyes, hot and wet. He takes a shuddery breath and brings his hands to his face, covering his eyes like that’ll hide them from Aizawa.

He hears a soft sigh, then feels the weight of a hand on his back, warm and heavy. Aizawa rubs slow, gentle circles into his back as he cries.

\--

Izuku swallows nervously as he approaches the gate on his first day back to school after USJ. He’d ended up spending a week, total, in the hospital, until the doctors were sure that the aftereffects of his quirk were gone and not coming back. They said it’d been remarkable, really, how well he’d recovered. He’s been at home on rest orders for three days after that, but he was finally cleared to go back to class. He knows that he’s only actually missed those last three days of class--Kacchan had brought notes over, giving them to Izuku’s mom and telling her they’d been given a week off to recuperate--but he still feels strange, like he doesn’t belong here. 

“Deku!” At Uraraka’s voice, Izuku blinks and turns, seeing her running up behind him, a wide smile on her face.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so glad you’re back!” She says, pulling him into a tight hug. “Everyone has been so worried about you! Bakugou said you were recovering at home, but nobody knew when we’d see you again, and oh I  _ missed  _ you!” She squeezes him, lifting him up off the ground a few inches. 

“Uraraka, I-I’m okay!” Izuku says, his face heating up even as she sets him down. “How’s Aizawa-sensei’s eye?”

“It’s okay!” She says, smiling and walking into the campus, Izuku walking with her. “He’s got a super cool scar now, but he says he can see and use his quirk just fine!”

“Thank goodness,” Izuku says, and they walk through the campus together, Uraraka asking him questions about his recovery, about what had happened. Izuku answers them all patiently, his face warm as Uraraka gushes over him, worrying about his symptoms and the strange mystery quirk that had taken him down. They’re in the hallway that houses the classroom before he knows it, and Izuku finds himself hesitating at the end of the hall.

“What’s wrong?” Uraraka asks, a few steps ahead of him, her head turned over her shoulder.

“I-I’m just a little nervous,” Izuku says, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth. “I’m worried that, um, that it’ll be weird.”

“Don’t be!” Uraraka says, smiling. “Everyone’s missed you.” She starts for the classroom again, and Izuku reluctantly follows, dragging his feet a little, his shoes squeaking on the tile. The large door that marks the entrance to their classroom is open already, but it’s not a surprise. They’re not early enough to be the first ones in the classroom, and Izuku can already hear the sounds of chatter drifting down the hallway. 

He steps into the doorway just behind Uraraka, some part of him hoping that he’ll be hidden behind her, but he can hear the way the sounds of conversation stop when he walks into the room. He looks up from the floor, swallowing around the lump rising in his throat, and he sees Tsuyu, Iida, Todoroki, Yaoyorozu, Kacchan, Kaminari, and Kirishima already in the classroom, all staring at him and Uraraka. Well, Kacchan isn’t staring at them; he’s looking at his phone, but Izuku can see that he’s just staring at the lock screen. 

“Midoriya,” Tsuyu says, a smile splitting her face. “Welcome back, ribbit.” Izuku blinks, relief washing over him, and the room suddenly erupts in sound, everyone trying to talk at once. 

“Are you okay?” Yaoyorozu asks at the same time Kirishima says, “Dude, I heard what you did with the Shigaraki guy, that was super manly. I would have peed my pants!” Iida, just a heartbeat behind, says, “I’m glad to see you back, Midoriya.” Izuku can see Kaminari saying something to Kacchan, too, but he can’t make out what he says, and Kacchan seems to be ignoring him. Izuku just blinking, opening his mouth to respond but unsure of who to reply to.

“Give him some fucking space,” Kacchan snarls from his seat, still not looking up from his phone. “Nobody can understand what you assholes are saying if you all talk at the same damn time.” Everyone’s gaze switches to Kacchan, and Izuku sighs a quiet breath of relief, silently thanking Kacchan. 

“Um,” Yaoyorozu says, looking back to him. “Are you doing okay?” She seems hesitant. “We heard that you’d been attacked with an illness-inducing quirk.”

Izuku nods as Uraraka grabs his hand and tugs him into the classroom. “Y-Yeah! I’m okay now, i-it was just temporary.” He glances over at Todoroki, who’s watching him with a blank face, eyes ever-so-slightly narrowed. Izuku swallows, not knowing what  _ that  _ means. 

They take turns asking him questions, telling him how  _ cool _ it’d been that he’d stood up to the villain, that he’d bought time for everyone while the heroes were on their way. As more of his classmates filter into the classroom, they join in, and it dissolves into talking about the incident, about who’d been sent where and what they’d had to face. Izuku lets himself fade into the background, comfortable to listen to his classmates, soaking in the fact that they’re all here, alive and safe. It makes it all worth it, and he finds himself really smiling--smiling for real,  _ meaning _ it--for the first time in a long while.

\--

“Midoriya,” Aizawa’s voice interrupts him on his way out of homeroom one day later that week, and Izuku freezes, turning back to look at him. He hates the way his stomach churns with anxiety. Some sick part of him is wondering if Aizawa has changed his mind--if he’s going to get rid of him, because he’s quirkless and useless--but Izuku pushes the thought away.

“Y-Yes sir?” Izuku asks, hesitating in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot. 

“I want to talk to you about something,” Aizawa says, his face not betraying any signs of anger or animosity, thankfully. “I’ll write you a pass for English, so don’t worry about being late.”

Izuku swallows, steps back into the classroom because that means he’s not going to get away with making an excuse about having to get to class and walking away before Aizawa can stop him. He’s going to have to stay for this, whatever it is.

“You’re not in trouble,” Aizawa says, sighing at whatever he sees on Izuku’s face. “I think it’s about time we got you a weapon.”

Izuku blinks, looking up at him in surprise. “A-A weapon?” He watches Aizawa nod.

“You’re quirkess,” Aizawa says, stepping out from behind his desk. “Which puts you at an inherent disadvantage against any villains with quirks that can be used in combat. For people like you and me, having a weapon is an essential part of being prepared.”

“L-Like you?” Izuku asks before he can stop himself. 

Aizawa leans against the front of his desk, putting his hands in his pockets. “Against people with heteromorphic quirks, I’m essentially quirkless,” he says. “That’s part of why I use my capture weapon.” He gestures to the scarf, and Izuku nods, because he’d  _ known _ that, even if it hadn’t been worded that way in his head. He hadn’t thought about it like that, that Aizawa was like him.  _ More like him than he realizes _ , Izuku thinks,  _ since we both have quirks that aren’t always useful _ .

“S-So, um, you want me to learn to use a w-weapon?” Izuku asks, tilting his head slightly, bringing his hand up to hold the strap of his backpack where it’s tossed over his shoulder.

Aizawa nods. “Not on your own. I would like to start having supplemental training sessions with you, if you’re amenable to the idea. We would meet after the end of classes, three times a week.”

Izuku finds himself nodding quickly, before Aizawa’s even finished speaking. “Y-Yes!” he says, unable to help the grin that splits his face. “I-I want to!” For all of the distrust he has of Aizawa, of teachers in general, Aizawa is still  _ Eraserhead _ , a pro hero and an amazing underground fighter, someone who Izuku’s looked up to for a long time, especially as Ace. He can’t believe that  _ this _ is what Aizawa wanted to talk to him about, of all things.

“Good,” Aizawa says, the edges of his lips quirking up slightly. “I’ll see you after school, then. Meet me outside of gym gamma.”

Izuku nods. “Y-Yes sir!” he chirps.

\--

He tugs on his goggles, feeling an odd sense of relief at being back in his vigilante outfit. He hadn’t been out on the streets since starting at UA, and he’d  _ finally _ convinced his mom that he would be okay to go out as Ace. He’d had to practically beg her, promising to be careful and not to do anything too risky. Technically, he’s not lying to her; nothing is really risky for him if he only dies once or twice, right?

He steps out of their front door, careful to make sure nobody is out on the streets to see him leaving his house, and he starts off towards his usual patrol route, the part of the city that feels like home, with the tall buildings and narrow alleyways, the bright lights and loud, pounding music. He runs faster than is really necessary, because he  _ misses _ it. As much as UA is amazing, as much as it’s his dream, there’s something about being out on the streets at night that just feels right. Maybe it’s the anonymity. Izuku’s never liked being the center of attention, not since he was a little kid. 

It’s a cool, clear night, and the air is drier than he’s used to. It hasn’t rained in a while, longer than usual, so the pavement is bone dry and a soft, cool grey as he moves through the city, weaving between buildings. It’s a full moon, too, and it makes it brighter than usual, like there’s one too many street lamps on or like he’d gone out early. Even after more than a week away, the sounds of the city still make sense to him, reading like an open book. He can hear the party a few buildings over, the throb and pulse of the music, and he can hear the people talking on their balcony above him, cigarette smoke floating gently above them. 

It occurs to him, looking up at the buildings that stretch several stories up, that as much time as he’s spent falling from buildings, he doesn’t really know how to do much other than, well, fall. He’s watched a few videos on climbing and parkour, but he’d never really tried it, never really tried to move around on the top of the city instead of crawling along the bottom.  _ It’s not like it’d be an issue if I messed up and fell _ , he thinks. 

With that thought, he walks over to the next alleyway, one that doesn’t have anybody on balconies above. The lights in the windows are off, too, and Izuku thinks it’s some kind of ragged office building, something that looks like it's seen better days for sure. 

He tenses his legs, then jumps, wrapping his hands around the base of the fire escape, the cold, rusty metal digging into his skin. It’s painful, but not as painful as the other stuff he’s survived, and he doesn’t even react to the pain as he pulls himself up with his arms, hooking one leg around a piece of metal that supports the fire escape, a diagonal bar that anchors it to the building. It’s harder than he expected, lifting his body up like this, but it only takes him a couple of moments before he’s heaved himself over the railing and onto the first floor fire escape. 

He takes the stairs up to the top level, not because he doesn’t think he’d have been able to climb up without them, but because there’s something else he wants to try, something he’s wanted to do since he was a little kid watching hero tapes in his bedroom. This fire escape reaches pretty high, and the roof of this building is flat, so Izuku can easily stand on the railing where it connects to the building and haul himself onto the roof, even if wriggling against the concrete hurts his hips and stomach where the corner of the roof digs into him. 

He pulls himself to his feet, wiping off the thin layer of pale dust on the front of his hoodie. It’s getting warmer out; soon, he’ll have to switch to just wearing the long sleeved shirt he has on underneath. His mom had said she was working on one that had an English “A” on the back in red, and Izuku has to admit, he’s kind of excited. It’ll be nice to have something like that for this part of him. 

The city is pretty from this high up, especially at night. He can see the yellow-gold of lit windows, the bright colors of neon signs outside of businesses and in the windows of shops. He can even see that parking lot, where he’d chased the portal guy and held him off until Eraserhead got there. It’s comforting, to be able to see everything like this. Izuku thinks he’s a little too fond of roofs in general, but who can blame him?

He walks around the edge of the roof, carefully trying to judge the distance between it and the other buildings. North and south are a no go--there are streets, not other buildings--but the building to the east should work. The alleyway there is narrow, and the building next to the one he’s on top of is about four feet shorter than this one. It should make it easier.

Izuku steps back, gives himself as much space as he can, then runs at the edge of the roof. He might have been scared if not for how many times he’s jumped from roofs already, so it’s ebay for him to run right at the ledge and leap just before he would step onto empty air, sailing across the gap and landing on the next building over with a thump. The impact is stronger than he’d expected, and he crashes down, his knees and hands smacking into the concrete first, then his face as he’s not able to hold himself up. His momentum smashes him into the roof painfully, but as he sits up, reaching up to touch his bruised cheek with a scraped palm, he grins. He’d jumped from roof to roof, like vigilantes and underground heroes on TV do, like he’d always wondered about. 

He sits up, pulling his legs out from under them and stretching them out. His jeans are studded with little pebbles on his knees, and he brushes them off, wincing at the sting in his knees. He’ll need to learn how to land, if he plans on making a habit of this. 

\--

After classes one afternoon, Izuku is walking home, enjoying the late spring warmth on his skin, when he hears footsteps behind him. He turns and sees Kacchan, backpack slung over his shoulder, walking quickly. Kacchan quickly catches up with him, a frown on his face. Izuku isn’t sure if he should be nervous or not; in the past, if Kacchan came to him after school, it meant Izuku was about to get blown up, but Kacchan also hasn’t done anything like that in a while.

“So,” Kacchan says, “what kind is it?”

“Huh?” Izuku blinks at him, and Kacchan’s frown deepens to a scowl.

“Your quirk, dumbass. Is it latent, or does it have a specific activation requirement?” Kacchan kicks at the ground in front of them, sending a little pebble skittering over the ground. Izuku watches it.

“H-How do you know--”

“I read up on it, what the fuck do you think?” Kacchan huffs a heavy breath of air. “So which one is it?”

Izuku folds his arms over his chest. He knows Kacchan catches the motion. “I-It’s, um. It’s got a specific activation requirement.” He stares at the ground, pretends he can’t see Kacchan’s red eyes and blonde hair in his peripheral vision. 

“What is it?” Kacchan asks, and Izuku looks up at him despite himself.

“I- Um. I-It’s n-not really a b-big deal. Um. I-I don’t want--” Izuku is cut off by Kacchan shoving him with an elbow and growling out,

“God, Deku, I’m not going to fucking beat you up. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Kacchan isn’t looking at Izuku’s eyes, his gaze instead on Izuku’s chest, where they both know there’s a burn scar the size and shape of 11 year old Kacchan’s palm. 

“I-I know,” Izuku says, because it’s instinct.

“Do you?” Kacchan says, almost a mumble. “I’m done beating you up. It was shitty of me,” he growls, and Izuku blinks. 

“Um,” he says, and Kacchan bites his lip. “I-It was. Shitty?” Izuku can’t really get the words out, can’t really formulate a coherent sentence, but thankfully Kacchan has known him long enough to know what he’s asking.

“Yeah, it was really fucking shitty of me.” Kacchan shrugs, and he folds his arms over his chest, a mirror of Izuku. “Don’t fucking tell anyone I said this, okay? But I’m-- I’m sorry.” Kacchan kicks at the ground again, even though there aren’t any rocks to send flying. Izuku stops walking, suddenly, staring open mouthed at him. Kacchan stops, too, turns back and arches a brow at Izuku.

“Trying to catch flies?” Kacchan says, and Izuku is sure he can hear a laugh in his voice.

“T-Thank you,” Izuku says, because he thinks it’s what he’s supposed to say and also because he means it. Because hearing Kacchan say sorry is something he’s wished for for  _ years _ .

Kacchan scowls. “Don’t thank me, dumbass. What the hell?” 

Izuku rolls his eyes and starts walking again, smiling when Kacchan joins him. “I found out about it, um. On that day with the slime villain?”

“Yeah?” Kacchan says, eyeing him. “What about it?”

“It, um. It attacked me first,” Izuku says, voice small and low. “My quirk, it, um, it activated because of that. S-So that’s how I knew to go for the eyes.” It’s his turn to kick at the ground, to brush up dust and send a small rock flying.

“Hm,” Kacchan grunts, and Izuku looks up at him. There’s a dark sort of undertone to his eyes. “You’re not going to tell me what the fuck your quirk is, are you,” he says, and it’s not actually a question.

“I-I...” Izuku swallows. “Not yet.”

Kacchan shrugs. “Okay,” he says, and shoves his hands into his pockets. 

They walk the rest of the way home together in silence, but it isn’t an uncomfortable one.

\--

Being back on the streets gives Izuku something he hadn’t realized he was missing. Surviving USJ, making it through alive and with his teacher intact, had been difficult and it had been terrifying. Saving people on the streets, giving them their stolen purses back and breaking up fights, punching too-pushy men and threatening violent drunks--well, it isn’t glorious and desperate like USJ was, but Izuku loves it all the same. There’s something different about throwing himself into these life-or-death situations that makes it better than if he’d been forced into it, if he had no choice but to fight.

He doesn’t give up on the people of the streets, not once he notices what’s happening. If he’s too late to break up a fight and someone gets killed, he’ll jump from a roof or a fire escape and get there faster next time. If he messes up, if he makes things worse, he can press the reset button and get another try. It’s simple, and it doesn’t bother him. He doesn’t feel sick, doesn’t feel a headache or that burning stomach ache, but then again, he only ever dies once or twice like this. He almost misses dying, on the nights that nothing happens, when the streets are quiet and calm and he goes back home without so much as a bruise. 

It’s nice, knowing what will happen before it does, knowing what to say and how people will respond, how they’ll react. It makes him feel  _ powerful _ in a way that he’s never really felt before, so maybe that’s why he spends a lot of his time thinking about Ace’s quirk. The fake one, not the one that he has, the one that brings him back to life over and over again. He fills a page in a notebook about it, about his ruse, and he hides it with his costume, doesn’t dare bring it to school. 

The media seems to know very little about him, really. He doesn’t make headlines, not lately, but he’s occasionally in reports about villain sightings or hero activity. There’s a couple of news websites that talk exclusively about vigilantes, and he’s on one of them a  _ lot _ , so much that he wonders if the reporter is a fan of his. They all describe his quirk as foresight, but they seem to disagree on how it works. Nobody’s ever seen any outward sign of him using it, after all.

Izuku thinks it’s kind of funny. He bases his fictional quirk around his vigilante name, and he knows people will assume it was the other way around. He describes the quirk as activating only in dangerous situations, ones where he could die. He says it gives Ace a hand of cards, in essence, a number of ways things could go poorly. A number of undesirable futures. He thinks it’s pretty close to the truth, if he leaves out the fact that these futures actually  _ do _ happen. His actual quirk could probably be explained as a foresight quirk, actually, if he twists the words right. He  _ experiences _ awful futures, learns about the twists and turns that lead to dead ends. If he leaves out the fact that he kills himself, it’s pretty believable. 

He’s taken to hanging out on rooftops, lately. They’re quiet, familiar, and safe; if something goes wrong, he automatically has an out, a way to reset things. Nobody really seems to spend much time on roofs, anyway, and the more Izuku practices climbing and jumping and landing without hurting himself, the more rooftops he can get onto. It’s almost become a game for him, trying to get on top of buildings that are locked or that don’t have roof access from the inside or from a fire escape. 

He’s on top of a building now, one that he’d had to pick a lock to get inside in the first place. There wasn’t a door to the roof, so he’d wiggled out of the top floor window and climbed up onto it, and now he’s just resting, sitting with his back to what he’s pretty sure is some kind of air conditioning unit. A lot of the roofs have them, and they’re metal and industrial, so they must perform some kind of function. Izuku can read up on it later, if he wants. He doesn’t bring his phone when he’s out as Ace.

The air is cool, tonight, and it’s quiet except for the usual buzz of the city below him. The building underneath is almost too silent, and he can hear the light breeze that brushes over the top of the roof, a soft whisper in his ears. The sky is dark and glittering, lit from beneath by light pollution but not so much that he can’t see stars peeking out from between the clouds. It’ll probably rain in a day or two. 

“It’s pretty, right?” Izuku blinks, startled at the sound of a female voice. He glances over to see a woman, only a few years older than him, standing on the rooftop. Her hair is long and dark, in a braid that reaches past her hips and sways in the wind. She’s wearing a sleeveless top and a pair of dark green utility pants, with a belt holding a first aid kit and a pair of brass knuckles, shining a dark gold in the dim light. Her eyes are on him, big and brown and amused. He starts to stand up, gets ready to make his getaway, but she raises a hand and laughs.

“Relax, kid, I’m not here to crash your party.” She plops down, dropping to sit cross legged on the roof. She’s about ten feet away from him, seemingly calm. “You’re Ace, right? I’ve seen you on the news and stuff.”

Izuku cautiously leans back against the metal, trying to make himself look calm as well. “That’s right. Who are you?” He figures if this goes bad, this is a fourteen-story building. He can just jump. 

“Oh, I’m a new hero. I’m actually still workshopping the name though, embarrassing, right?” She says, tipping her head back and chuckling. “Ms. Joke says it’s too edgy, which I feel like is kind of the point?”

“Ms. Joke?” Izuku asks, and the name is familiar but he can’t remember where he’d heard it before. He knows she’s a pro hero, but he can’t remember the details.

“Yeah, she taught me at Shiketsu,” the girl answers, and it clicks for Izuku. “For now, I’m going by Avenging Angel. Like I said, it might change, though.” She smiles at him. “It’s not nearly as nice and concise as your name.”

Izuku shrugs, feeling his face heat up the tiniest bit. “Yours is fine, too,” he says. “If you’re a pro hero, shouldn’t you be arresting me?”

She shrugs. “Nah. I’m trying to be underground, so I’m supposed to have a working relationship with the vigilantes anyway. That’s what my boss told me, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean for me to go and find one on my third night on patrol.”

Izuku blinks. “It’s only your third night?” He’s suddenly struck with an image of his future, as a pro hero who’s been secretly patrolling underground for years. He can’t imagine starting from the beginning as a pro. 

“I mean, I did work-studies and stuff,” she says, picking at something on the concrete in front of her legs. “But it’s my third day out on the street as a legit sidekick! They’ve had me doing paperwork and stuff for weeks, yuck. Apparently it’s how they haze new hires,” She laughs, flicking her long braid over one shoulder so it falls into her lap. 

Izuku doesn’t know what to say, so he just looks away from her, over to the skyline. This building is tall, but it isn’t the tallest, and he can see a number of buildings, both shorter and taller than this one. It makes the city look almost like the ocean, with rippling waves and an uneven surface. He exhales, slowly and calmly. 

“It is pretty,” he says, thinking back to her earlier comment. “I like it up here.”

“Mmhm!” She hums. “Do you come out here often?”

“Not to this particular building,” he replies, glancing over at her. “Trying to get information about my patrol route?” He sees the way she stiffens, eyes going a little bit wide. 

“N-No!” She replies, and he feels a little bit of pride at having read her. He’s getting good at that. “Jeez, you really can see the future, huh?”

He shrugs. “I didn’t use my quirk just then, if that’s what you’re asking.” He sighs, standing up. “I’ve got to go,” he says, walking toward the side of the building that he’d left a window open on. 

“I’ll see you around,” she replies, and Izuku wonders if it’s a threat or if he’s just becoming a little paranoid.

\--

Training with Aizawa is  _ brutal _ . Izuku isn’t sure what he expected, exactly, but it wasn’t this. Aizawa is standing in front of him, in a fighting stance that mirrors Izuku’s own, but Izuku is  _ dripping _ sweat and Aizawa barely seems phased. Izuku’s wearing his sports uniform, and Aizawa is in a t-shirt and shorts, and for some reason that’d made Izuku think they’d be doing something easy. Not  _ this _ .

Izuku ducks forward, throwing an elbow at Aizawa, and Aizawa easily steps out of the way of it, using the momentum of his dodge to throw a neat punch and hits right where Izuku’s guard is open, in the center of the chest. It’s a controlled hit, like all of the ones Aizawa had hit him with, and it just barely stings, but Izuku huffs, frustrated. He hasn’t been able to land a hit on his teacher since they started. 

“Where did you learn to fight?” Aizawa asks, casual. He doesn’t seem to be judging Izuku, necessarily, but the bored look on his face makes Izuku feel like he is.

“Um, I-I watched videos on YouTube,” Izuku answers, wincing a little when Aizawa nods, unsurprised.

“I thought it was something like that. You’ve got good coordination and form, but you leave yourself open and you have a habit of leaning too far forward,” Aizawa says, lifting his arms. “You should keep your elbows more tucked in, like this. And when you throw an elbow like that, you need to turn your hip with it, like,” he throws an elbow strike into the air, a quick, neat movement, “that. It’ll give it more power and you won’t be as open to counterstrikes.” 

Izuku nods and tries to copy Aizawa’s stance, pulling his elbows in a little bit more. He glances up at his teacher, who gives him a small nod. He throws another elbow strike, this time trying to rotate his hip like Aizawa did. It  _ feels _ better than last time, and when Aizawa throws a kick at his midsection, Izuku is ready to block with his other arm. 

“Better,” Aizawa says, dropping out of his fighting stance and walking to the corner of the gym, where a black leather punching bag hangs down from a silver chain on the ceiling. “I want you to do twenty of those on this. I’ll hold it steady for you.” He gets behind the bag, bracing against it, and Izuku blinks walking over there. He stops in front of the bag, looking it over, then throws an elbow at it.

“Like this?” He asks, and Aizawa shakes his head. 

“Get closer. You’re too far back; you’re leaning again.” Aizawa readjusts his grip.

Izuku throws another one, this one smacking into the bag with a satisfying noise. He straightens up, getting back into his fighting stance.

“Breathe out when you hit,” Aizawa says. “And pull back faster; in a real fight you don’t want to linger with your elbow sticking out.”

Izuku nods, takes a deep breath, and tries again.

\--

Izuku sits on the roof, swinging his hands where they dangle over the edge. It’s hot out today, and the sun falls unfiltered onto him up here, making him sweat. It’s kind of unpleasant, to be honest, especially with his UA uniform being long sleeved, but he just needed to get away from everyone for a little bit. 

It’s not that they were mean to him. Izuku’s used to that, and he’s used to the comments and the shoving that comes with it. But UA is... different. It’s not like middle school, and he doesn’t know how to  _ deal _ with it. When he gets to class in the morning, people say hello to him and they’re not joking. In the breaks between classes, people  _ talk  _ to him, not condescending and not rude. They ask him if they can look at his notes, and when he shows them, they don’t make fun of him or call him creepy or a freak. After school, someone  _ always _ walks with him to the train station, and Kacchan usually walks from the train to their homes, just a block apart from each other. Even if they don’t always talk, they walk together.

It’s nice, and Izuku likes it, but the thing is it’s a  _ lot _ . For the past ten or so years, Izuku has been more or less alone. He’s walked home alone, sat alone at lunch, played alone at recess. His only interaction with people his age for most of his life has been getting bullied. He remembers getting shoved into bathroom stalls so that kids could dump his backpack in the toilet, remembers walking home alone after with his stuff in a black plastic trash bag the school nurse had given to him. His mom had asked him about it, and he’s said he dropped it in a puddle by accident. He knows she didn’t believe him. 

So when people crowd around him, his first instinct is to feel afraid. He thinks it’s unfair to his friends, really, but he can’t help it. He thinks Uraraka and Iida have picked up on it, for sure, and he hasn’t missed the way that Kacchan has started yelling at people if Izuku gets too nervous. He thinks that Todoroki and Tsuyu have noticed as well, because they pull him away for one on one conversations if the class is getting rowdy. Well, Tsuyu pulls him away to talk. Todoroki always uses the group project they’d been assigned to do together as an excuse, even though they both know it’s already good enough for a perfect score. Midnight doesn’t grade that harshly, anyway, and both Izuku and Todoroki seem to be perfectionists. 

Izuku wonders about Todoroki, sometimes. He’s quiet, and he’s decidedly  _ not  _ like Izuku, but he sometimes acts similarly, sometimes flinches if people move too quickly or too close to his face. Izuku sees him avoid conversation, avoid talking to people, but he also sees the way he hovers around the edges of the group, never  _ leaving _ , just distant. It reminds Izuku of the way he feels when he’s crowded, like his body thinks to expect pain even when logically, reasonably, he knows it’s not coming. Some part of him is hardwired to expect it, to expect unkind words and harsh fists. 

So, he’s taken to coming up to the roof, on days that it’s too much for him. It’s easy to get up here, considering that there’s actually a door to access the roof and picking the lock doesn’t seem to set off any alarms. He supposes nobody that’s on the campus in the first place would be an issue. They’ve even managed to step  _ up _ security after the USJ incident. Some of his classmates had talked about feeling unsafe, but Izuku thinks he feels fine, honestly. What happened was probably the worst case scenario, and they’d made it out, right? 

Uraraka and Iida don’t know where he goes during lunch when he says he needs some time alone. He brought his food with him, of course, a to-go container of Lunch Rush’s katsudon, but he’s not that hungry right now. The container is next to him, about a foot from the edge, and he’s debating if he should make himself eat it now or be starving by the time he gets done with afternoon classes. It smells good, even through the plastic lid still snapped on top of the container. 

It’s probably because he’s been training with Aizawa so much that he recognizes the sensation of his capture weapon immediately as it wraps around his waist, pulling him away from the ledge and dragging him a short ways across the roof before he stops. It’s also because of his training that he manages to twist himself to face Aizawa, knowing just how he can push against the capture weapon without it tightening around him, so he sees the dark look on Aizawa’s face even before the man speaks.

“Midoriya,” he says, walking closer to Izuku without letting his capture weapon go slack, still tight around Izuku’s midsection. “What are you doing?” His tone of voice implies he’s already figured out what Izuku’s doing, but he sounds angry, dark. It throws Izuku for a loop, and he blinks.

“I-I know the roof is, um, banned, but I-I just,” he swallows, wriggling and trying to get free from the capture weapon. “I-I’m sorry, Aizawa-sensei, it’s j-just so loud in the mess hall.” He watches Aizawa’s face flicker into something different, something almost relieved.

“You’re up here because it’s quiet?” he asks, voice soft, and Izuku nods, slowly. 

“What did you think...” he trails off as it clicks, and he blinks. “Oh.”

Aizawa sighs, retracting his capture weapon and wrapping it back around his neck. “Yeah,  _ oh _ .” He glances to the side, where Izuku’s lunch sits next to a pair of disposable chopsticks on the rooftop. 

“S-Sorry,” Izuku says again, offering his teacher a weak smile as he stands up. “I get, um, overwhelmed? I-In the cafeteria.”

“Was it necessary to sit  _ right _ on the edge?” Aizawa asks, sighing and folding his arms over his chest. Izuku honestly isn’t sure how to explain that to him; it’s not like he can just say  _ oh, I can’t die, and it’s kind of fun to be on the edge because of the adrenaline and stuff _ . 

“I like the view...?” he says, and it comes out as more of a question. Aizawa arches an eyebrow at him, then shakes his head. 

“Get your lunch and come with me,” he says, watching as Izuku nods and walks back over toward the edge, picking up the still-warm container of food. He turns back to see Aizawa still watching him, and he doesn’t turn to open the door into the building until Izuku is well away from the ledge. Izuku wonders if Aizawa thinks he’s lying about why he’s up here, or if he’s just being cautious. 

“W-Where are we going?” he asks as they walk down the stairs, Aizawa in front of Izuku. He can’t see his teacher’s face, and it’s making him nervous.

“To the teachers’ lounge,” Aizawa answers. “It’s pretty quiet in there, and if you eat at my desk, nobody will bother you.”

“O-Oh,” Izuku says, blinking. The idea of eating lunch with Aizawa makes him a little nervous, mostly because he still isn't’ entirely convinced the man doesn’t hate him, but he can’t deny that having somewhere to go when he needs quiet that isn’t subject to the weather would be kind of nice. 

“Did you pick the lock to get up there?” Aizawa asks as he stops at the second floor, opening the door to the hallway and holding it open for Izuku. Izuku steps through then waits for Aizawa to follow.

“Um, y-yes, I-I’m sorry.” Izuku worries at his lower lip, but Aizawa just looks at him with a flat face.

“It’s locked for a reason,” Aizawa says, leading Izuku down the hallway a short way. Izuku knows where the teacher’s lounge is; all of the students know, so that they can ask for help or pick up graded papers. 

“Sorry,” Izuku replies, because it’s all he can think to say as Aizawa opens the door to the teacher’s lounge. Izuku follows him in, trying not to drag his feet.

“I don’t care as long as you don’t fall off the roof,” Aizawa says, nodding to Midnight and Present Mic, who are each at their respective desks. 

“Hey Shouta!” Present Mic says, waving. “What’s the little listener doing here?”

“Avoiding socialization,” Aizawa answers, and Izuku’s infinitely grateful he doesn’t mention the whole roof thing. He doesn’t need his teachers thinking he’s suicidal, because he isn’t, not  _ really _ . It doesn’t count if he comes back, and it’ll make it harder for him to kill himself and get away with it if it comes down to it. 

Aizawa leads him to the back corner of the room, to a desk that’s unreasonably cluttered for something so neat. Nearly every square inch of it is covered in papers and folders, but every single one is in a neat stack, and there isn’t a speck of dust on the desk. There’s a  _ couch _ behind it, a beat up old thing, and in front of it are two normal chairs, like the ones from the classrooms. 

Aizawa plops onto the couch, immediately laying down on it. Izuku sits in the chair, hesitantly. He’s not sure what to do, really.

“You can move anything in your way,” Aizawa says, one arm draped over his eyes. “I’m going to nap. Wake me up when lunch is over.”

Izuku eats his lunch there, listening to the soft sounds of his teacher breathing and the quiet chatter from the other side of the room. It’s peaceful in a different way than the roof for sure, but it’s nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: just the normal stuff i think? bullying is talked about
> 
> i hope this satisfied our collective need for aizawa to stop being a DICK. ive been DYING to write some of these scenes. soon we're gonna hit the part that is really canon divergent djgkhdfj i just can't totally follow cnaon seeing as it's... yknow... not finished :') and at the rate im going ill be done before horikoshi is


	13. gravel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku starts training with aizawa, gets back to school after USJ, and talks with katsuki

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hi hi!! sorry this one is so late in the day, i had a lot of stuff earlier on!

“The sports festival is coming up,” Aizawa says, looking bored where he sits at his desk. He’s tapping a pencil on the surface of the wood, resting his face on his hand. “It’s an important opportunity for you to attract the attention of hero agencies for your work studies, so I suggest you take preparations seriously.” Izuku watches as his teacher scans the classroom, making eye contact with Izuku briefly. 

“I’m excited,” Uraraka whispers from beside him. “I honestly thought we wouldn’t get to participate this year.” She’s smiling, leaning over at her desk to talk to him. There’s no way that Aizawa can’t see; it’s not like she’s being subtle, but he doesn’t do anything about it. Izuku just nods in response, not wanting to talk during class. 

He’d honestly thought that the sports festival would be cancelled, too, but as Aizawa had explained to them earlier that week, it’s too important for their future careers for them to cancel it. Izuku wonders, though, if it’ll really be okay. He remembers Kurogiri’s quirk all too well, and he knows from experience that if he wanted to invade the sports festival, he could. Shigaraki probably could as well, all on his own, too. 

“I want you all to look through the tapes from past sports festivals and write me a one page report on a student who has a similar quirk or similar fighting style to yours,” Aizawa says. “Get it to me by homeroom tomorrow. Keep in mind that the first two events change every year, and that the third round is always a tournament with the matches determined by lottery, not performance.” He yawns, holding up a hand to his face. “I’m going to sleep.” 

Izuku watches his teacher lean over on the desk and put his head down, presumably to nap. He’s not really thinking about his assignment, even though he probably should be, because he’s stuck on what Aizawa had just said about the third event.  _ Determined by lottery _ , Izuku thinks, biting at his lower lip.  _ That means that if I reset, I’d get different matches every time _ .

That’s if he decides to use his ability during the sports festival at  _ all _ . Izuku’s thought about it, of course. Other students get to use their quirks, so it’s only fair, right? The problem is that Izuku is registered quirkless, and that for him to use his quirk, he’d have to either manage to get himself killed or kill himself quickly without getting interrupted, a feat that would probably be difficult considering the high security at the sports festival. He’s struck, not for the first time, how badly he needs a way to kill himself quickly and efficiently. 

Izuku wishes he had his notebook with his analysis on his own quirk with him, but he doesn’t dare to bring it to UA with him, in case somebody decides to go through his things. He’s thought about it before, though, and he keeps coming back to the same few ideas. 

The absolute best way for him to kill himself would probably be with a gun. He knows it’s quick and efficient, and if someone tries to stop him, well, he’s armed. The problem is  _ getting  _ a gun. He’s done a ton of reading, and it’s difficult for adults to get firearms in Japan, let alone a fifteen year old who doesn’t appear to have any reason to want one. It would not only make him look incredibly suspicious if he was caught with it, but Izuku also doesn’t think he’d be able to get one in the first place.

He thinks about knives, a lot. He has the ones he uses as Ace, but he doesn’t dare risk carrying them with him in case someone makes the connection. He’s thought about buying a couple of other ones, ones with sharp, thin blades. He could keep them with him and slit his wrists in the bathroom, but there’s still the issue of bleeding out. It takes time, too much time when he cuts his arms like he has in the past. Izuku wonders if he’d be able to slit his own throat, if he has the guts to do it. He’s felt his pulse point below, the steady thump of warm blood beneath his skin, nestled next to his windpipe. It doesn’t feel that deep, doesn’t feel like it would be hard to sever.  _ I’ll have to test it out _ , he thinks. 

There’s also poison, but that has the same issues that the guns do as far as getting his hands on some. He knows there are natural poisons, though, and he’s sure with enough research, he could find a way to make something that would kill him. The issue is getting something that would kill him quickly and without risking the lives of others around him. He knows of things that kill quickly, but they’re mostly gases, things he’s only heard of because he’s always been told not to mix cleaning chemicals together. Izuku thinks about spies in old American movies sometimes, the ones where when a spy is captured, they break a capsule in a fake tooth and die from cyanide poisoning in mere seconds. It would be convenient if he could do that, too, but he doesn’t think he’d be able to get a cyanide tooth put in. 

Jumping is nice, of course, because it’s quick and once he jumps, it’s hard for people to intervene. But from his research, Izuku is pretty sure that he’s incredibly lucky not to have survived any of his falls thus far. If he lands wrong, if he jumps from a roof that’s a little too low, he could be paralyzed, could be comatose. He could get as close to death as possible without dying, and as amazing as his quirk is, it can’t fix that. Izuku needs to be more careful.

“What are you thinking about?” Uraraka’s voice makes Izuku jump nearly out of his skin, the tops of his legs knocking against his desk. He swallows, turning to look at her, and sees her just barely suppressing a laugh. 

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you,” she says, grinning. “You were concentrating really hard! Are you worried about the sports festival?” Izuku blinks, forcing himself to remember that they were supposed to be working on a paper about the festival. He’s glad for the reminder of what he’s supposed to be thinking about--it’s not like he could have told Uraraka he’d been fantasizing about new, creative ways to kill himself. 

“Y-Yeah,” he answers, drumming his fingers on the cool surface of his desk. “I don’t want to do poorly.”

Uraraka nods, an understanding look on her face. “I’m nervous about the media attention,” she says, looking a little embarrassed. “I know we’re just first years, but with the USJ incident, it feels like people already want to know about us...”

Izuku nods, humming in agreement. “We’re definitely going to have a lot of eyes on us,” he answers. “But it might not be such a bad thing. We’ll have a better chance of getting good work studies that way, right?”

“Yeah!” Uraraka nods. “I’m going to do my best and put my all in,” she says, holding up a closed fist. 

Kaminari turns, from where he, Kirishima, Ashido, Sero, and Kacchan are sitting and talking. “You two should train with us,” he says, grinning. “We’re doing Bakugou boot camp.”

“Don’t call it that,” Kacchan hisses, arms crossed over his chest. “And I didn’t say you could invite whoever the hell you want, fucking pikachu.”

“It’s okay though, isn’t it?” Ashido says, nudging Kacchan’s shoulder with her elbow. “Midoriya’s getting special training from Aizawa-sensei, so he can show us some moves too!”

Izuku feels his face heat up. “I-It’s not anything s-special, really!” He sees Ashido give him a wide grin. 

“But you’ll show us your moves, right? You were kind of badass at USJ, even when you were so sick!” She stands up, miming a punch. “Yaomomo told us all about it!”

Kaminari nods eagerly. “You must have like,  _ insane _ pain tolerance dude. She said you were puking  _ blood _ and you were still all up in Shigaraki’s grill!” He grins at Izuku, and Izuku can see the rest of their little group looking at him, Kacchan included. His childhood friend is eyeing him out of the corners of his eyes, a look on his face that Izuku knows means he’s thinking. 

“Um... If y-you’re sure it’s okay for us to join...” Izuku looks at Kacchan, who huffs a long breath of air. 

“Fine. But you two better not fucking complain when I beat your asses into the ground.” Kacchan meets Izuku’s gaze with his red eyes, and Izuku gives him a small smile. Kacchan tsks and turns away, but it’s enough for Izuku.

“Wow,” Uraraka says, rubbing the back of her neck. “Is it weird that I’m both nervous and excited?”

Kirishima laughs at that. “Dude, you’re right to be nervous! Studying with Bakugou is an extreme sport normally. Imagine how he’ll be with physical stuff.”

“It’s not an extreme sport, shitty hair,” Kacchan growls, turning to glare at him. “You just don’t have any fucking discipline.” Kacchan’s scowl deepens when Kirishima just laughs in response, and Kaminari and Ashido join in, giggling at Kacchan’s dark expression. 

Izuku thinks that, maybe, the sports festival will be okay. Maybe he’ll train like the rest of his friends, read up on techniques and practice with Aizawa until he’s good at combat and in good shape. Maybe he’ll get through the first two events without having to kill himself. Maybe he’ll even get far enough in the tournament that he won’t feel the need to slip away afterwards, won’t feel the need to dig the tip of a knife into the belly of his arms. He doesn’t have to  _ win _ , right? He just has to do good enough to get a work study. It’ll be okay. 

\--

The city is quiet except for the usual sounds, the gentle whisper of the wind between the buildings, the soft pulse of distant music, the occasional grinding of car tires over asphalt. Izuku slips between the buildings, moves through the streets like a ghost, hugging the shadows. Since he’d started to get media attention, even if it was just a little, he’s been more careful to move stealthily. He’s only had people recognize him once or twice, but he doesn’t want to push it if he can help it. 

Tonight, he’s extra careful because he’s following someone. He’s seen this man a few times before, always clinging to the shadows and avoiding the busiest streets. He’s got dyed hair, platinum blonde with black showing where his roots have started to grow out, but what first caught Izuku’s eye was his clothing. Despite hugging the edges of the streets, despite staying hidden, he wears a neat, dark grey suit with a blue undershirt and a white tie. It fits him well, and Izuku has only ever seen him dressed that way. He’s never out more than two days in a row, always carrying a large, black duffel bag with him and wearing black leather gloves. He’s also got tattoos, the mark of something geometric rising just above the collar of his shirt, climbing up the back of his neck. Izuku doesn’t think any of these things on their own would make him suspicious, but together, they do. He’s not sure, of course, but something about the way the man moves and the way he dresses reminds him of the green haired villain, the one with the portal quirk. 

It’s only making him more suspicious, now that he’s following the guy past his normal patrol route. He’s walking quickly enough that Izuku’s having a hard time keeping pace with him without getting caught, but so far he’s managed to avoid being seen. They’re starting to walk to the edge of this part of the city, though, close to an industrial area that is mostly deserted this time of night. The gaps between the buildings are getting wider, and there are less and less noises that Izuku can use to cover his footsteps, and it’s making his heart quicken in his throat, dancing a frantic beat against his skin.

He watches the man turn onto a side road, one that’s mostly loose gravel poured over old, cracked asphalt, and Izuku has to slow his pace to prevent his boots from crunching against the ground. The man he’s following seems to be more confident here, less afraid of being seen. He’s walking faster, more confidently. Izuku slips off the side of the road, walking in the thick grass that lines the left side of it. It still makes more noise than Izuku is comfortable with, but it’s a soft, swishing sound and not the distinct noise of footsteps. Izuku will take what he can get. 

This is a part of the city that Izuku hasn’t been to. It’s abandoned, for the most part, with warehouses that stand sullen and silent against the night sky. The ground is less smooth concrete and well-trafficked asphalt, instead made up mostly of light grey gravel and rough, cracked pavement. The fences that surround the parking areas for the warehouses, that guard the outdoor storage, are topped with razor wire, neat curls of metal that shine a dark grey in the light. Some of the fences are chain link, rusty where the strands of dull metal intersect. It makes Izuku nervous in a way that his part of the city, the part that talks even in the dead of night and stays up until the sun is rising in the morning, does not. 

The man he’s following stops, suddenly, outside of a small building made of metal sheeting, looking almost like it’s meant to be temporary. It doesn’t look like it’s new, though, and Izuku can see scratches and rust on the parts of the building where the metal isn’t painted a dark blue like the rest of it. There are no windows, and the door is a solid thing without a peephole, but Izuku can see light coming out from underneath it, a thin line of dull yellow. 

Izuku ducks aside, hovering in the shadow of an eighteen wheeler parked outside the nearest fence. The building is outside the fence, too, but the back end of it is touching the chain link, the razor wire bent out of the way for the little structure. Izuku tries to breathe as quietly as possible as he lowers himself to the ground, scooting under the truck and pressing his belly to the gravel below. He can see the man from his nose down at this angle, and it’s good enough for Izuku to see him knock on the door. He says something, his mouth moving, but Izuku can’t make out the words. It almost sounds like he’s singing. 

The door opens, spilling dull light onto the man in the suit and casting strange shadows onto the ground. Izuku braces himself to get up, to go over to listen at the door, but to his surprise, instead of the man going inside, somebody steps out. They’re taller than the man and wearing strange shoes, large platform boots that shine a dull, purplish grey in the light. They’re made of metal, Izuku realizes, as a woman steps out from the building and shuts the door behind her. She’s dressed similarly to the man, wearing a black suit and a pale grey undershirt along with a purple tie, but she has odd metal bands around her wrists, biceps, and just above her knees. Izuku can’t see any more than the tip of her chin and her long, black hair, pulled back in a low ponytail, but he strains, trying to hear what she says.

“...have it?” She asks, voice low. Izuku can barely make out what she’s saying. 

“Yes ma’am,” the man answers, kneeling down and setting his duffel bag down on the gravel. He unzips it, and Izuku leans forward, trying to see what’s inside, but he can’t make it out. The man pulls out two things, a manila folder stuffed thick with papers and a disc, a shiny silver CD in a clear plastic case. He holds them up, and the woman takes them with a pale hand, each finger adorned in a ring that matches the bands covering her body. 

“And the rest of it?” She asks, tapping one foot. The metal looks  _ heavy _ , and Izuku wonders if it’s something to do with her quirk. Otherwise, it would be inconvenient. 

“Next week,” the man says, zipping the bag back up. There’s clearly more in it, and Izuku wonders if there’s another location he’s taking it to, or if he keeps his own supplies in the bag as well.

“Fine,” the woman says, and it sounds like she’s forcing it out around gritted teeth. “But if you don’t have it by next time, Fury is going to want to see you and I’m not going to try and stop him.” Izuku can see the way the man tenses up at the name,  _ Fury _ , the way he draws his hand back away from his bag, the way his eyes glitter with fear before he stands up, taking a small step back. 

“I-I’ll have it next time,” he says, his words shaky. “You don’t have to send him.”

“ _ I’m  _ the one keeping him from you,” the woman says, folding her hands over her chest. “And I’m the one paying the price for your poor performance. Now, scram.” She picks up one foot, like she’s going to kick him but too slowly for it to be an actual attack. The man seems to get the idea, though, and he picks up his bag, quickly walking away. Izuku watches him, tracking his motions from where he’s laying under the truck. The man is moving frantically, quickly, and he thankfully doesn’t seem to notice Izuku. 

Izuku almost relaxes, but then he hears the crunch of a shoe on gravel and he turns to see the woman walking toward the truck, her heavy boots growing closer to him. Izuku holds his breath, praying that it’s a coincidence, that she hasn’t noticed, but her movements are too direct, too confident for that. 

“Now,” she says, crouching down. “What do we have here?” Izuku doesn’t have time to react as her hand shoots out, cold fingers wrapping around his wrist and  _ yanking,  _ pulling his head and shoulders out from under the truck. The gravel digs into his belly and chest even through his shirt, and he looks up, already trying to pull himself free from her grip. 

She’s wearing a mask made of that same dark metal, a shaped, smooth mask that starts just above her upper lip and covers her entire face, with thin, angled ovals over where her eyes are. Izuku can just see the glitter of her eyes through the gaps, and as far as he can tell, nothing is holding the mask to her face. Her hair is smooth and even, and tucked into her hair is a headband that holds up two metal rabbit ears, thin pieces of metal that look sharp on the edges. They should be  _ heavy _ , even as thin as they are, but they seem weightless, moving effortlessly as she tilts her head at him, lips twisting into a frown. 

“Aren’t you...?” She reaches for his face, and Izuku jerks his head out of the way, kicking against the ground and trying to pull himself out of her grip. She just sighs, and the bruising grip on his wrist tightens, her rings digging into his skin with painful force. He can’t pull himself away as she reaches her other hand up to his face and tugs off his mask with long, thin fingers. 

“Let me  _ go _ ,” he hisses, snapping at her fingers with his teeth as she reaches for his goggles, next.

“Or what?” She says, unphased. “Stop moving so much, or I’ll have to break your wrist.” Izuku snarls at her, still trying to pull away, as she grabs his goggles and yanks them off of his face, knocking his hair out of the ponytail as she does. 

He doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but it isn’t for her to jerk back in surprise. She blinks, visible just barely through the mask, then drops his wrist. She stares at him for a moment as he scrambles back, trying to put distance between them. Izuku can’t help the way he’s breathing hard, the way his heart is trying to push itself out of his chest. He feels  _ naked _ without his mask and goggles, and he can already see the ring of dark bruises starting to form on his wrist. 

She stands up, only visible from the knees down from Izuku’s position under the truck, but he can hear her sigh, can see her hands brushing gravel off of her dress pants. She stands there for a moment, seemingly waiting for something, then starts to walk away.

“Don’t get caught again,” she says as she goes, so quiet Izuku has to strain his ears to hear. “I won’t be so kind the next time.” Izuku watches, waits until she steps back into the building, slamming the door shut behind her. Even then, he stays under the truck for a few more minutes, listening to the sound of his own breath coming hot and fast in his ears, to the way his heart slowly creeps back to a normal pace. His wrist aches, and he’s covered with a thin sheen of sweat, more beading up on his forehead as he reaches out with his uninjured hand, carefully tugging his goggles back under the truck and putting them on, sliding them over his hair. He takes his mask next, putting it on and feeling better with it on. 

It takes him an embarrassing amount of time to slip out from under the truck and get back home, but he doesn’t want to take any risks. He moves so slowly, so carefully, letting the pain in his swollen wrist remind him of his close call.

\--

The next day, Izuku has training with Aizawa. He wears his long sleeved uniform with a hoodie over it, even though it’s a little too warm to justify the hoodie. It covers the ring of bruises around his wrist, a bloom of dark violet and red that’s typical of a fresh bruise. It’s the worst over the bone, where it sticks out near his thumb, the tissue there is swollen and hot. If Izuku looks closely, he can see the imprints of her rings in the bruise, showing up as darker, more red areas of the bruise. 

He’s moving slower than normal, not as quick to block, and he knows Aizawa has noticed. It’s obvious from the way that Aizawa is going easy on him, giving him more warning before he throws a hit for Izuku to block, stopping to instruct Izuku on his form more often. Izuku can only hope that Aizawa just thinks he’s tired from “Bakugou boot camp,” as the others had been calling it. They’d mostly been going for runs together and lifting weights in the gym as a group, but Kacchan insists that it’s going to get harder after their upcoming exam in English. He’d said that Kirishima and Ashido would fail if he gave them any excuse to slack off on their studies, so he was going easy on them. That’s what he’d said, anyway. Izuku personally thinks that he’d noticed the way a few of them were a little out of shape, that Kacchan was adapting his plan to get them up to speed.

Izuku is dragged out of his thinking by Aizawa throwing a kick to Izuku’s left side, something that he moves instinctively to block with his left forearm. He misses the mark a little, though, his movement slowed by the stiffness in his muscles from being out patrolling all night, from having crouched under that truck for so long. Aizawa’s kick, well placed and controlled, hits Izuku’s arm right where the outside of his arm meets the wrist, against the angry bruise he has hidden there. It blooms with bright, angry pain, and Izuku sees white flash at the edges of his vision as he leans over, clutching his wrist in his hand and shutting his eyes shut against the wave of pain. 

“Midoriya?” He cracks one eye open to see Aizawa standing in front of him, brow furrowed. “Let me see,” he says, holding a hand out. His gaze is trained on Izuku’s arm where he’s cradling it to his chest, but Izuku just shakes his head.

“I-It’s fine,” he says, even though his lip is wobbling slightly. He forces himself to uncurl from his arm, puts his fists back up in some semblance of a fighting stance. “I can keep going.”

Aizawa sighs, then reaches out lightning-quick and grabs Izuku’s hand, pulling his arm down and pulling the sleeve of his hoodie up with his other hand. Izuku struggles back, and Aizawa lets him pull his arm away, but the damage is already done. Izuku’s hoodie sleeve is pushed up to his elbow, and his sports uniform doesn’t cover the bracelet of bruises around his wrist. It looks even worse in the bright fluorescent light of the gym, and Izuku feels anxiety rise in his throat as Aizawa meets his eyes.

“You need to tell me if you’re injured,” he says, voice firm. “ _ Before _ we start training.” His gaze flickers down to Izuku’s wrist as Izuku carefully wraps his other hand around it. “Who did that to you?” There’s an undercurrent of something in Aizawa’s voice, something Izuku can’t place.

“N-Nobody,” Izuku says, shaking his head. His blood is rushing in his ears, and he takes a step away from Aizawa.

“It’s shaped like a handprint,” Aizawa says, voice dull and serious. “Was it your mother?” His face is grim, his lips a thin line. 

“No!” Izuku shouts, eyes wide in surprise. “My mother would n-never.” Aizawa just nods, seeming to believe him.

“Someone at school, then?” Aizawa tilts his head slightly to the side. “Bakugou?”

Izuku shakes his head quickly. “I-It wasn’t anyone here,” he answers, tugging his hoodie sleeve back down. “It’s okay, really,” he tries, looking up at Aizawa with a pleading glance. “It looks worse than it is.”

“I doubt it,” Aizawa says, stepping toward Izuku. Izuku backs away, his heartbeat fluttering in his throat and his breath hitching. Aizawa seems to notice, pausing. 

“Can I go?” Izuku blurts out, his gaze flickering to the door and then back at Aizawa. He feels cornered, even though there’s nothing behind him and he isn’t trapped here, not like he was under that truck. He knows Aizawa wouldn’t hurt him, not on purpose, but he doesn’t want anyone’s hand on his wrist right now. 

“You can go to Recovery Girl,” Aizawa says, sighing. “I’ll come with you.”

“I-I can go alone,” Izuku says, and Aizawa glares at him in response, walking past Izuku, towards the door out of the gym. 

The walk to Recovery Girl’s office is silent, and with Aizawa staying just a few steps ahead of Izuku, enough that he would surely hear if Izuku tried to make a break for it. Izuku knows better than that, anyway. The sun is setting behind the trees at the edge of campus, and it gives the shadows that dust across the ground a strange look, like they’re painted onto the ground. Izuku watches them all the way to the building that houses the infirmary, stepping onto the tile floor as Aizawa holds the door open for him. 

Recovery Girl’s office door is shut, but Aizawa walks up to it anyway, pulling a key from his pocket and unlocking the door with a soft click. 

“Is she here?” Izuku asks as Aizawa pushes the door open, revealing a dark room inside. Aizawa glances back at him as he reaches a hand inside, flicking on a light switch. 

“It appears not. I’m not a doctor, but I know enough to see if it’s sprained and to get you some ice for it,” Aizawa says, stepping into the infirmary. Izuku hangs back for just a second before following him, wishing he’d just killed himself and reset the injury away last night. He’d thought about it, but he’d woken his mom up when he came home, and he didn’t want her to walk in on him partway through and he certainly didn’t want to sneak out again, not so close to when he needed to wake up.  _ Stupid _ , he thinks.  _ I’m only in this situation because I was too lazy to fix things myself _ .

Izuku stands in the infirmary, most of the lights still off, and watches Aizawa rummage around in a drawer. The man turns back toward him with an elastic bandage in his hand, and he walks back toward Izuku. 

“Let me see it,” he says, face blank and impassive. Izuku swallows and offers the wrist, knowing better than to try and argue. Aizawa tucks the bandage under his armpit and takes Izuku’s wrist, his touch gentle and light, almost not there. He tugs up Izuku’s hoodie sleeve, and Izuku wonders if he imagines the slight frown on Aizawa’s face.

“I’m going to press on it in a few places,” Aizawa says, glancing up and making eye contact with Izuku. Izuku just nods, feeling his face flush in embarrassment. Aizawa doesn’t seem to notice though, looking back down at Izuku’s wrist and pressing calloused fingers around the joint. The pressure aches, and Izuku can’t but hiss at the pain. Aizawa moves quickly, turning his wrist around and examining it, bending Izuku’s hand in all directions with soft touches. 

“It’s just badly bruised,” Aizawa says, pulling his hands away and taking out the bandage from under his arm. “I’m going to wrap it, and you should ice it and keep it elevated. You’re right handed, right?”

Izuku nods, faintly surprised. Aizawa takes his hand again, deftly wrapping the bandage around the injured joint. The fabric feels rough and painful against Izuku’s irritated skin, but the compression helps, makes it feel less raw and hot. 

“Good, you’ll be able to write, then.” He tucks the end of the bandage under a loop, finishing the wrap. “I’ll get you some ice for the train ride home,” he says, turning and walking back towards the fridge-freezer in the back of the room. Izuku watches him for a moment, then drops his gaze to stare at his wrist, wrapped carefully in beige fabric.

“Sensei?” he asks, barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?” Aizawa answers, turning back to him with an ice pack in hand.

“Sorry,” Izuku whispers, dropping his gaze to the floor. He hears Aizawa’s steps on the tile, then a soft sigh.

“Don’t apologize. Just tell me next time you’re hurt.” Izuku looks up at him, and Aizawa meets his gaze with a serious expression. “And Midoriya, you can talk to me if something is going on.”

Izuku just nods, ignoring the tears welling in his eyes as he accepts the ice pack from his teacher. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed!! i know not everyone likes original characters, so i'm trying to keep them to a minimum, but given the nature of this fic i need OC villains to make it work! i hope that nobody minds too too much! im excited for this next bit and the sports festival, which should be fun to write :3


	14. rooftops and recon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku gets caught by a villain and... let go. aizawa sees the bruise on his arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hi!!! it's a little bit shorter of an update today, but i think this way we'll have one more chapter before the sports festival! just a reminder that if you need content warnings, please check the author's notes before reading the chapter! i put them there to avoid spoilers, and if you want to search for a specific keyword, you can use ctrl + f and search for your triggers/what you need warnings for, that way it'll tell you if that term shows up in the end notes (or in the chapter!)

Izuku sits on the rooftop, legs dangling over the edge as he watches the city move and breathe. It’s dark out tonight, a new moon, so even though the skies are clear, the roof is only lit from the lights below, not above. Izuku likes it, though, and he feels like in the dark red and black of his Ace costume, he can hide in the shadows here, disappear into nothing. He thinks about Hagakure, about her quirk, and wonders what kind of insane stealth missions he’d be able to pull off with a quirk like that. 

For one thing, it’d be easier to sit on rooftops without getting interrupted. He sees Eraserhead’s capture weapon before he sees the man himself. The fabric grips onto the edge of the roof, and Izuku watches as Eraserhead uses it to propel himself onto the top of the building. 

“Ace,” Eraserhead says, his expression hard to place with his goggles on. 

“Eraser,” Izuku answers because it seems fitting. He watches Aizawa turn to look in the direction Izuku had been facing, looking out over the city. 

“What are you doing up here?” He asks, and it doesn’t sound accusing or urgent. It’s different from when Aizawa the teacher found Izuku the student on the roof, somehow. It’s almost like Eraserhead trusts Ace, in a way he doesn’t trust Izuku.  _ Or,  _ Izuku thinks _ he just isn’t responsible for my well being as Ace the same way he is when I’m his student. _

“Watching,” Izuku replies, turning his head away from Eraserhead and looking back over at the city. It’s quiet tonight, and that’s why he came up here in the first place, hoping to see something that tips him off to a conflict below. 

“Hmm,” Eraserhead hums in response. “You remind me of one of my students.” It takes everything Izuku has to not react when Eraserhead says that, forcing himself to continue breathing easily and not moving his gaze from the city.

Eraser seems unsurprised by Izuku’s silence. “I teach high school,” he says, moving to stand beside Izuku on the ledge. “You’re high school age, aren’t you.” It isn't a question. Izuku doesn’t answer, anyway. He swings his legs, knocking his boots against the side of the building. He wonders if this is Eraserhead fishing for information, or if he already suspects Izuku and this is his way of telling him that. Izuku doesn’t want to give anything away, doesn’t want to confirm any of his theories. 

“I’m fifty-six, actually,” Izuku deadpans, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. 

Eraserhead snorts. “Right,” he says, and Izuku can  _ hear _ the way he’s rolling his eyes. “Well. I’ll leave you to it.” The pro hero turns, walking away, and Izuku watches him go.

“Wait,” Izuku says, hesitating. He watches Eraserhead pause, sees him turn back from where he’d been preparing to jump to the next rooftop. 

Izuku swallows, and says, “Do you know anything about a villain named Fury?” He watches Eraser stare at him for a moment, then sees him marching toward him. 

“Where did you hear that name?” Eraserhead asks, stopping a few feet away from Izuku. His tone of voice is demanding, harsh. It reminds Izuku of when Aizawa scolds them in class.

Izuku shrugs, even though his heart has started to beat faster in his chest. “I heard it on the streets,” he says, watching as Eraserhead stares him down, eyes barely visible through the slits in his goggles.

“Stay away from him and anyone who mentions him,” Eraserhead orders. “It’s too dangerous.” 

Izuku blinks, remembering the woman with the rabbit ears and the metal mask. She’d let him go.  _ She’d seen my face _ , he remembers, his mouth going dry when he thinks about her, about her hand on his wrist and the way he was very nearly  _ captured _ . His quirk can do many things, but it can’t set him free if he can’t kill himself and nobody else will do the job for him. 

“I think it’s too late for that,” Izuku whispers, and he sees Eraser’s lips turn into a scowl. 

“What did you do?” Eraserhead asks, and he sounds so much like Aizawa the teacher in that moment that Izuku almost laughs. He doesn’t though, just shrugs his shoulders.

“I don’t know much right now,” he says, not answering Aizawa’s question. “But I’ll give you the information when I have a better idea of what’s going on.”

“I  _ just _ said to stay away,” Aizawa hisses. “Fury and his men are not something you want to play around with.”

Izuku snorts. “What are they going to do, kill me?” He can’t help himself, but the way Aizawa raises a hand to massage his temples does make him feel a little guilty.

“ _ Yes, _ ” he grits out. “Or worse. You’re a  _ child _ . Leave this to the pros.” 

Izuku shrugs, looking away from him and back toward the view. “I’ll be careful.” He swings his legs, his heels hitting the side of the building again. 

He hears Aizawa sigh, deep and long-suffering. “Here,” he says, and Izuku glances up to see him pulling a small card out of one of his pockets, holding it out to him. “I would rather you not get involved at all, but if you need to call for backup, my number is on there.” Izuku reaches up, hesitant, and takes the card. He looks over it. It’s simple, black text on white paper, and all it says is Eraserhead’s hero name, his phone number, and the number of the agency he works with. Izuku sticks it in his hoodie pocket and looks back up at Eraserhead, who’s just standing there, hands in his pockets as the wind whips the hair around his face. 

“Thanks,” Izuku says, and Aizawa nods, turning to face the edge of the roof, where Izuku’s facing. 

“Thank me by not dying,” Aizawa replies, and Izuku knows that’s one thing he won’t be able to do. 

\--

Izuku isn’t exactly sure why he starts cutting himself outside of resetting, but he doesn’t like to think too hard about it. He’s learned that it’s best not to press himself on these things; if he worries about why he gets anxious when he doesn’t kill himself after a week or so since the last time or why he presses his fingers into the bruises he accumulates at training or why he starts to cut little lines into the skin just above his elbow, well, he panics. If he doesn’t question them, doesn’t make himself think about it, everything stays okay, stays calm. Izuku knows ignoring the issue probably isn’t the  _ best _ way of handling things, but it’s  _ working _ , so he tries not to stress himself out over it. 

He has to admit that it’s a little pathetic, though, when instead of going to the roof or to the cafeteria or even to the teacher’s lounge, he’s spending today’s lunch period locked in the bathroom, in a private stall. He doesn’t have his knives with him, of course; he never brings them to class. But from his reading online, his private tabs with questions like  _ quickest way to kill yourself _ and  _ efficient and silent suicide methods _ , he’s learned that a lot of people don’t  _ have _ knives like he does. They get by with things like safety razors, with the blades stolen from pencil sharpeners and craft blades they bought from the art store. 

Izuku has a blade that he bought from a drugstore; it’s the kind for shaving, but he doesn’t really have to shave, so he probably looked silly buying it. It’s okay, though, because it’s actually really nice for when he kills himself by bleeding out. It’s much, much sharper than his knives, and the blade is so thin that it’s bendable, so he can easily conceal it in a little pillbox that he keeps in the pockets of his uniform. It’s his current way of ensuring he can kill himself quickly if he needs to, even though bleeding out in general is kind of slow. He’s wanted to practice slicing his own throat, but every time he’s gone to try, he’s gotten nervous and decided not to. It’s stupid; it’s not like he hasn’t slit his wrists before. It should be easy for him. 

That was when he’d first started to do  _ this _ , the kind of cutting himself that doesn’t kill him. He’d been frustrated at himself for not being willing to slit his throat, and he’d had his knives out already, and he’d done what he did that one time in the bathtub, cutting little non-lethal cuts into the flesh of his arm. That time, though, it hadn’t been a warm up to kill himself. He’d let the wounds stay there for a few hours, then killed himself by getting into the bath and opening up his left arm. When he’d woken back up, they’d been healed, and he had an extra couple of hours to study for English, so he thinks that really, there was no harm done. 

The thing is, he keeps doing it. He keeps catching himself thinking about dying at times where it would make things  _ harder _ , not easier. Like when he’d just walked home in the rain and if he died, he’d probably have to walk home again. Or when he’d already sat through class and he wasn’t going to make himself sit through it again, not when he’d understood everything the first time through. So he couldn’t kill himself, fine. It’s not like Izuku really wants the death part, specifically. There’s just something intoxicating about the way his body feels in those last few moments before death, where he’s running out of blood or he’s filled with adrenaline and falling from a height. He’s read about how the body stops all pain moments before death, since there’s no point in it any more, and he thinks it’s got to be something like that. 

Cutting himself like he is now, in little cuts that bleed in small crimson beads instead of dripping, flowing blood, isn’t the same, but it’s the closest he’s felt. It’s like a tiny piece of that relief he gets right before dying, a tiny amount of clarity and peace. He’s started using it as a substitute, and he figures it’s technically better for him, right? His quirk does  _ something _ to certain cells of his body, and while that hasn’t been an issue for him since USJ, he figures it’s better not to push it. 

That’s why he’s here now, in the bathroom closest to class 1-A because he didn’t want to wait any longer than he absolutely had to. He feels like there’s lightning under his skin, prickling his nerves and begging to be let out. The sharp sensation of the razor digging into his skin--not quite pain, but something else--is soothing, familiar. He breathes out in the bathroom stall, his breath shaky and uneven. A soft, warm feeling nestles itself under his collarbone, and he leans back, tipping his head so that he’s staring at the ceiling tiles, the white and grey above him. He wonders if this is what doing drugs feels like; if so, he thinks he might understand the appeal. 

Izuku puts his razor away, tucking it into the little pill box and putting it back into his pants pocket. The tiny cuts on his upper arm are still leaking bright blood, little lines of the stuff running down the back of his arm and threatening to drip onto the floor. Izuku grabs a handful of toilet paper and mops it up, watching the way the blood has already coagulated on the surface. It’s strange, not at all like the blood in movies or drawings, and he wonders if it’s just hard to fake this, the strange clotting and the too-bright, opaque look to it.

Izuku pulls his uniform sleeve down, over the raw cuts in his skin, and stands up. The bathroom is still empty as he swings his backpack over his shoulder and unlocks the stall, all signs of what he’d done hidden.

\--

It’s a dreary, chilly evening when Izuku sees the white haired villain again, with that same suit from the week before. He remembers what the woman he’d met had said--that he needed whatever he was supposed to collect before their next meeting--and Izuku can only assume that if he wants to know what the man is trying to get, this will be his only chance. So, he’s in his costume, following the man yet again. It’s a risk that’s worth taking, he’s decided, and if it looks like the man is going back to that strange building in the industrial area, Izuku will just leave. He doesn’t want to risk seeing that woman again, not when he’d been stupid enough to not reset after she saw his face.

Izuku steps carefully along the sidewalk, keeping about a block behind the villain. He knows he’s conspicuous in this outfit, so it’s best for the villain to not lay eyes on him at all. Today, he’s headed the opposite direction from when Izuku had followed him the week before, and it’s reassuring to know that Izuku isn’t too late to see him doing whatever it is that’s so important to Fury or whoever.

The air is crisp and cool in a way that it hasn’t been in a while, and the cold front that had blown through that afternoon brought a cold, drizzling rain with it, the kind that Izuku can’t really tell from a thick fog until he notices how wet his clothing is. It helps, because it provides a faint blanket of white noise to keep Izuku’s footsteps disguised and it makes it harder to see, which both helps Izuku stay hidden among the shadows and makes it more difficult for him to stay with the villain he’s following. 

That pale fog hangs around the building that the villain stops at, a hero agency that Izuku is vaguely familiar with. The heroes who work here mostly specialize in rescues from car accidents and in managing accidental quirk-related incidents--the kinds of stuff that needs to be done but isn’t as glamorous as fighting villains and pulling children from burning buildings. Izuku’d done a ton of reading on them in middle school, for a project that he’d gotten a B on because he “should look to other career paths.” He hasn’t been here in person before, though, and it’s a nicer part of town, not at all where the white haired villain usually lurks. Izuku nestles himself into the closest alleyway, pressing his back to the wall of one building and turning his head to peer out into the street so that he can watch the white haired villain work. 

The man sets down his duffel bag beside the door, and Izuku can hear the soft thump it makes even from here. This looks like the back door to the building, anyway; there are a couple of empty parking spots, and there aren’t any signs on this part of it. The door is padlocked shut, and Izuku wonders how the man will break in. 

The man reaches up, feeling along the edge of the door with a gloved hand. He moves slowly but surely, like he’s not afraid of being caught. After a moment of investigating the door’s hinges, he retracts his hand and stops for a moment, doing something with his hands in front of him, his body blocking Izuku’s view. Izuku bites his lip, tempted to move forward, but stops when he sees the man lift his hand again, this time without a glove covering it. 

He brushes his hand along one hinge of the door, and Izuku sees a reflective, slippery-looking substance coat the metal, a shiny layer of something that glistens in faint rainbow hues, with small bubbles in it. It looks like soap, almost, and Izuku watches the man use his quirk to coat both of the hinges in the stuff, then slide his glove back on to cover his skin. He reaches up one hand to the top of the hinge, where the pin holds it together. Izuku holds his breath as the man effortlessly pries apart the hinge, the soapy stuff he’d coated it with apparently lubricating it to the point where it’s easy to tug apart with one hand. The door shifts, leaning at the top, and the man crouches down slightly to undo the other hinge. The door pops away from its frame, twisting itself loose with its own weight, and Izuku watches the man reach up to support it, angling it so that it doesn’t fall down completely, just hangs open about two feet. It’s silent, nearly completely, and Izuku is struck by the fact that this may not be the first hero agency this man has broken into. 

He watches the man pick up his duffel bag and slip into the darkness inside the building, disappearing into the darkness. Izuku waits, counts to ten, then follows, quickly walking from his alleyway towards the building. He listens around the sound of his heart pumping in his ears as he slips inside, ducking to the side so his shadow won’t be in the doorway while he waits for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. 

When his eyes adjust, Izuku sees a table covered with papers with a few chairs around it, a fridge in the back of the room, and a door leading out of the room, ajar with a thin cast of pale light spilling down the hallway. The doorway is next to the fridge, which has a big calendar on it and a piece of paper that reads “LABEL YOUR FOOD,” underlined four times in thick, bold marker. It’s pretty clearly a break room, but what concerns Izuku is the fact that there only appears to be the one door out of the room. It’ll be hard for him to keep himself hidden this way.

He presses on anyway, sliding his boots against the tile so that he doesn’t make footsteps as he moves forward. He slides into the hallway easily, and he can see that there are multiple offices branching off from the hall, each with a plexiglass window, a nameplate, and a door. Most of them are dark, with the doors closed, but the first one on the left has a cool, pale light filtering through the window. Izuku presses himself to the thin sliver of wall between the door he’d just come through and the window and tilts his head to look into the office. 

He can't see much, but he can see a computer screen, the source of the light, and the silhouette of the villain he’d followed into the place. The edges of the man’s bleached white hair glow with the illumination from the screen, and Izuku can see that he’s downloading files, the file explorer on the computer open. Izuku strains, squinting his eyes, but he can't read the text on the screen to see what the man is downloading. He watches the progress bar, a green line, grow closer and closer to the end, but he doesn’t move until it flashes green twice and the man moves, reaching to a box that must be the computer itself and yanking out a flash drive, a thin black rectangle. Izuku doesn’t hesitate, ducking out from his hiding spot and dashing down the short distance to the door. 

He moves as quickly as he can without making noise, tucking himself back into that same alleyway he’d watched from as the man broke into the agency. He doesn’t wait pressed against the wall, this time, instead jumping up and curling his fingers around the bricks surrounding a closed window on the side of the building. The brick is cool and damp, and it digs into the skin of his fingers as he hauls himself up, quickly pulling his legs up so that he can stand on the window sill. He reaches up to the next story’s window sill, cursing mentally when he fingers slip for just the briefest moment before he manages to catch himself, one arm swinging to the side. Falling now would be disastrous; not only would it make noise, but it wouldn't kill him. Thankfully, Izuku manages to drag himself onto the angled, shingled roof of the building, a little two story thing. 

He watches, pressed to the damp red shingles as the man slides the door back into its place, carefully replacing the pins that hold the hinges in place. He doesn’t seem to be rushing, and Izuku can see a small smile on the man’s face as he steps away, turning and picking up his bag before walking away from the building. Izuku watches him go, not daring to follow him lest he meet with that woman again.

\--

  
  


“I’m going to  _ die _ ,” Ashido moans from where she’s face down on the floor of the gym, her cheek against the mat.

“No you’re fucking not,” Kacchan hisses from above her, poking her side with his sneakered foot. “Get your lazy ass up and do your last set.”

Izuku smiles from where he’s sitting on a bench, his face plastered with sweat and his hands wrapped around his water bottle where it sits on his lap. “It’s best to just get it over with,” he tells Ashido. 

“Easy for you to say!” Kaminari cuts in from where he’s lying on his back on the ground, a sweat rag draped over his face. “You were at least in shape  _ before _ this. You have no idea what it’s like for the rest of us. We’re going to  _ die _ and the blood will be on Bakugou’s evil, evil hands.”

Izuku giggles, covering his mouth with one hand as Kacchan whips his head around to glare at him. His childhood friend takes a threatening step toward him, holding a ten pound dumbbell in one hand. 

“What’s so fucking funny, Deku?” He hisses. “Do you want to do an extra set?” He points at the dumbbell as he starts doing bicep curls aggressively, and Izuku just laughs harder, shaking his head and leaning forward as he tries to contain his fit of giggles.

“Give me that,” Kirishima says, walking over and hip-checking Kacchan with a grin. “You’re gonna blow it up if you keep doing that without gloves on.”

“No I fucking won’t!” Kacchan snarls, dropping the dumbbell into Kirishima’s waiting hand and stomping away, explosions crackling from his palms. He stops a short distance away, lobbing a particularly large explosion at a rubber training dummy. Izuku winces in sympathy for the poor thing; it’s already burned and blackened in places from being Kacchan’s outlet for his sweat. 

Kacchan whirls around and points at Ashido as soon as he’s done burning the extra nitroglycerin off of his palms. “Pinky! Get up and do your last set, or I’ll fucking kill you!” He starts marching towards her, and Izuku watches with amusement as Ashido quickly sits up, pulling herself to her feet and raising her hands in surrender. 

“I’m going, I’m going!” She says, smiling and shaking her head. Kirishima offers the dumbbell to her and she takes it with a nervous look on her face and starts doing bicep curls that make her arms shake the tiniest bit. 

“Keep your elbow down,” Kacchan says, demonstrating with a bend of his arm. “It’s fucking cheating if you use your shoulder.”

“Fiiiiiiiine,” Ashido sighs, fixing her form and continuing. Kacchan stands, watching her. Izuku can see the array of the various weights of dumbbells he’d picked out for all of them, lined up from lightest to heaviest. 

“Did Bakugou do sports in middle school?” Uraraka asks, and Izuku looks up to see her standing behind him, screwing the lid back on her water bottle. 

“I don’t think so,” Izuku replies, turning back to watch Kacchan snap and poke at Ashido until she got her form right and switched to the next arm. “He’s just always wanted to be a hero.” 

“He’s so dedicated,” Uraraka says. “I’d thought that, y’know, with a quirk like his, he wouldn’t need to...”

Izuku hums. “I think a lot of people would think that,” he answers, leaning forward so his elbows rest on his knees. “But Kacchan’s never been satisfied with how he is now. He wants to be number one, so.”

“You think really highly of him, huh?” Izuku looks up at Uraraka, sees her smiling. 

“Y-Yeah, I guess...” he replies, and she just nods, a knowing look on her face.

“I think that’s amazing in its own way, y’know? Especially given how mean he was to you at the start of the school year.” She tips her head to the side slightly, smiles wide at him. 

Izuku laughs nervously. “Yeah...”  _ If only she knew _ , he thinks.  _ I wonder what she’d think, if she knew _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: self harm
> 
> i hope you enjoyed!!!! im excited to write the sports festival, and i spent a TON of time planning it! just a heads up that there might not be an update tomorrow-- i have a lot of stuff to do for school and im meeting a friend for a lunch date, so i'll be gone part of the day that i would normally be able to write. im still going to try to get an update out but i thought i'd warn yall just in case!


	15. recon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku sneaks around and also joins the bakugou boot camp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys!!! i ended up being able to update anyway :D im getting close to not being behind with classes anymore, and i had an awesome day today so im thinking i should be able to even fit in a one-shot some time this week in addition to this fic which makes me really happy!! as always, thank you for all of the nice comments; they mean a LOT to me!

“Why knives?” Aizawa asks, watches Izuku adjust his grip on the rubber training knives that Aizawa had given him.

Izuku shrugs, feeling heat on his face. “Um, I-I just think they’re easy t-to carry and c-conceal,” he answers, avoiding Aizawa’s gaze and praying that Aizawa isn’t making the connection between him and his vigilante self. When Aizawa had asked him what weapon he wanted to learn to use, Izuku had chosen knives before he’d even considered the fact that it might link him to his other identity. 

“Hmm,” Aizawa grunts. “You’re not wrong, although the main issue with knives is that they’re easy to use against you if the enemy gets their hands on them.” He looks down at the rubber knife in his own hand, and Izuku watches as he flips it, catching it neatly by the handle. He looks at Izuku out of the sides of his eyes.

“That’s why I’ll train you to fight against someone with a knife as well,” Aizawa says, meeting his gaze. 

Izuku nods. “R-Right,” he answers, holding the knives like he would hold his normal knife when he was on patrol. Aizawa watches him, and Izuku has to swallow down a burst of anxiety.  _ I’m not the only one who uses knives _ , he reassures himself.  _ This won’t give me away _ .

“Come at me,” Aizawa says, standing with his hands at his sides. He’s wearing his hero outfit minus the capture scarf and goggles, and Izuku nods, settling down into a fighting stance before dashing forward, using the techniques Aizawa had already shown him as he stabs forward with the knife. 

Aizawa dodges out of the way, twisting his torso to the side of the knife. “Good,” he says, sounding surprised. “Have you used knives before?” 

Izuku nods before he can help himself. “I-I watch a lot of v-videos,” he says, stepping back into a fighting stance. “S-Some of them have weapons, so I practice with chopsticks.” It’s not totally a lie, but he hasn’t used that method in a good while. Nowadays, he just goes out and fights with his knives until he survives the encounter. 

Aizawa raises an eyebrow at him. “That’s creative,” he says, and his face is so blank that Izuku can’t tell if he’s making a joke or not. “What you’re doing works fine if you’re the only one with a knife, but if both you and the person you’re fighting have knives, you want to go for the hands first.” Aizawa holds his hand out, the knife gripped in it. “Even a completely untrained person can do damage with a knife. Going for the hands will keep you at a distance and will allow you to disarm your opponent. Even if they have more knives, they can’t use them against you if their hands are badly damaged.”

Izuku nods, taking a step back so that he’s at more of a range he stands at when throwing a kick. “I should stay back, right?” Aizawa nods, moving into a fighting stance of his own.

“You’ll actually want to put a little bit more distance between you and your opponent,” he says, sliding back about another foot. “Even a short knife gives you a little bit more reach.” Aizawa demonstrates by swiping the knife in the air, the motion easily brushing past Izuku’s hands. 

“Okay,” Izuku says, nodding.

Aizawa tilts his head slightly. “How’s your wrist?” Izuku follows his gaze to where the bruise, yellowing and nearly healed, is showing where his hoodie sleeve has fallen down.

“I-It’s a lot better!” Izuku says, giving his teacher a smile. 

“Good,” Aizawa says, nodding. “We’re both going to end up with a lot of bruises from this, so I need you to let me know if you need a break.” 

Izuku swallows and nods.

\--

Izuku opens the door to the hardware store, pushing open the glass door and hearing the soft chime of the bell as he steps inside. The temperature inside is just the same as outside, cool and pleasant. He glances at the counter, where Miura is usually waiting, but she isn’t there and the stool is empty. He looks around, listening, and sure enough, he hears the sounds of chatter from one of the aisles.

Miura steps out, carrying a toolbox still in its packaging. She spots Izuku immediately, her low pigtails shifting on her shoulders as she turns to greet him.

“Oh, Midoriya!” She smiles, tiling her head slightly. “I’ll be right with you, I just need to get this rung up for her.” She jerks her head back, gesturing as a familiar face steps out from behind the shelf. It’s Avenging Angel, that new pro hero that Izuku had seen as Ace a few weeks ago. Her hair is in the same braid as before, and she’s wearing what must be her hero outfit. She blinks, looking at Izuku, then smiles politely.

“Midoriya, was it?” She asks, putting one finger to her chin. In front of her, Miura walks over and sets the toolbox on the counter.

“U-Um, yes,” Izuku replies, feeling a little heat rise in his cheeks. 

“Have we met before?” She asks, tilting her head slightly. Izuku feels his stomach drop, and he barely catches the way Miura eyes him worriedly. “I’m getting deja vu.”

“I-I don’t think so, um...” He bites his lip. “Maybe your name would ring a bell?”

“Oh!” She nods. “I’m Ren Yamauchi. I work at a cafe a little ways north of here, maybe you’ve stopped by?”

Izuku shakes his head, thankful that she doesn’t seem to have made the connection between him and Ace. It’s odd, though, that she’s lying about her job. It’s not completely abnormal for underground heroes to hide their civilian identities, but Izuku has a hard time piecing together why she’s lying in this situation specifically. Behind the counter, Miura hums.

“I’ve got you all ready to go, Yamauchi,” Miura chirps, and Yamauchi starts, taking a few steps away from Izuku and towards the counter. Izuku lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and he busies himself by pretending to look at a display of plumbing supplies, a mixture of copper, plastic and... lead pipes. Izuku frowns, rereading the label. He wonders why they sell those, given that lead is toxic.

“Thank you, Miura!” Yamauchi says, and Izuku turns to see her lifting the toolbox off of the counter. “I’ll be back,” she says, and Izuku watches the way Miura nods, a polite smile on her lips. Miura keeps her eyes glued to Yamauchi as she walks out, not looking away until the glass door shuts and the bell hanging at the top of it chimes.

Miura turns her gaze over to Izuku, her face looking serious under her glasses. “You were afraid of her,” she says, almost whispering, and Izuku feels a shiver go down his spine.

“N-No, I wasn’t!” He replies, shaking his head. “I just--”

“You recognized her.” Miura says, then sighs. “I won’t press. What can I help you with today?” She steps back out from behind the counter, her usual apron tied on top of a mustard yellow long sleeved shirt and a pair of dark jeans. 

“Um,” Izuku bites at his lower lip, peeling off a thin piece of dead skin there. “Do you sell guns?” he asks, watching as Miura blinks, tilting her head to the side slightly. 

“No,” she answers. “Just ammunition. I don’t have a license to sell firearms,” she says, watching him. “Are the knives not enough?”

Izuku shrugs, looking down at the floor, scuffed and worn as it is. “N-No, I just thought... I thought it’d be nice to have something else, a-as backup.” He’s not sure why, but Miura is acting differently, and he doesn’t like it. There’s something unpleasant about it, even though she hasn’t done anything rude or mean, and Izuku feels like he’s under a microscope, pinned under glass.

“Hm,” Miura hums, still looking at him through her glasses. Izuku swallows.

“I-I guess I’ll just go, then,” he says, laughing nervously as he puts a smile on his face. “Um. H-Have a good day?” He starts to move towards the door, but Miura reaches out, grabbing his wrist. Izuku can’t help but flinch, even though her grip is gentle. He follows her gaze down to his wrist, to the yellowing bruise still there. Her fingers, pale and thin, are studded with bruises of their own, between the knuckles of each finger. They’re black and violet--fresh--and they match the one on her wrist, a band of blackened skin. Izuku stares at it.

“Midoriya,” she says, and Izuku looks up to see a soft look on her face. “I don’t know what you needed the knives for, and I don’t know what you need the gun for, but... I think I have some idea.” Izuku watches her take a deep breath. “You don’t have to kill to defend yourself,” she says, staring at him with near-black eyes. “And you don’t want to. You’re going to be a hero, right?”

Izuku blinks, trying to remember when he’d told her that. “Yeah,” he answers, voice just above a whisper. 

“Good,” she says, smiling gently. “Then you should know that heroes don’t kill people unless there’s no other choice. You should  _ also _ know that you can’t be a hero if you’re dead.”

Izuku blinks. “I-I wasn’t going to--”

“Weren’t you, though?” Miura lets go of his wrist. “There’s only two reasons a high schooler wants to buy a gun when he already has knives and knows how to use them. Either he wants to kill himself, or somebody else.” She tips her head slightly, her eyes drifting over his face. “For you, I would guess it’s a little bit of both, but I’ve been wrong before.”

Izuku swallows, takes a step back. Miura doesn’t stop him, this time. 

“Be careful, Midoriya,” she says as he puts his hand on the door, tugging it open. The bell chimes, the sound ringing in the store. “Come back soon.”

Izuku turns and almost runs out of the store, his heart pounding in his throat. 

\--

Izuku walks along the sidewalk, his and Kacchan’s steps just barely out of sync as they walk side by side. Izuku’s uncomfortably hot in his school blazer, but the shirt underneath is short sleeved, and the angry red cuts hiding underneath aren’t something he wants Kacchan to know about, so he just tries his best to focus on the sensation of the light breeze and ignore the way the afternoon heat is making him sweat. 

Kacchan seems to be in a similar state, even though he’s already taken his blazer off, carrying it draped over one arm. He’s always sweat more easily than Izuku.  _ Probably a side effect of his quirk _ , Izuku thinks as he watches a bead of sweat run down Kacchan’s neck, stopping and soaking into the already damp fabric of his shirt collar. Kacchan slides his gaze over, meeting Izuku’s stare, and Izuku quickly looks away, his face heating up at having been caught staring. 

“Oi, Deku,” Kacchan says. “Do you have anything about me in any of your nerdy notebooks?” Izuku risks a glance at him, sees Kacchan’s face calm and curious. He scowls slightly when Izuku makes eye contact with him. 

“Um,” Izuku swallows. “Why?” He looks back to the ground in front of him, watching as the squares of sidewalk pass underneath his feet. Kacchan has only ever mentioned his notebooks in the sense that he found them creepy, thought they were stupid and stalkerish. Izuku isn’t sure he wants to hear how Kacchan will react to Izuku having analyses on him.

“I thought it’d be pretty damn convenient to have your nerd ass shit about my fighting style,” Kacchan says, voice rising slightly. “It’s fucking fine if you don’t.”

“I-I do,” Izuku replies, twisting his fingers nervously around the straps of his backpack. “I, um. I thought you thought they were creepy, so I-I haven’t shown you, but I have a lot of stuff about you.”

“Yeah?” Kacchan says, and Izuku sees the way he smiles, his face almost devious. “That’s fucking awesome,” he says, chuckling low under his breath. “I’m going to fucking  _ destroy _ all of those extras at the sports festival.”

“R-Right,” Izuku replies, shaking his head with a smile. “Most of them are in my notebooks at home, though.”

“And?” Kacchan snorts. “Bring ‘em to school tomorrow.”

Izuku looks at him. “Y-You know I’m on book fifteen now, right...?” Kacchan blinks, then narrows his eyes.

“God, Deku, you’re such a fucking nerd,” he spits, kicking at the ground. “Whatever. You can bring one or two, I guess. Just pick your best ones.”

“You could come over this weekend,” Izuku whispers before he can think too hard about it. He doesn’t look up at Kacchan, keeping his gaze fixed on the ground, but he can still see Kacchan’s shock out of the corner of his eyes. “Mom would love to have you.”

“I haven’t been over since we were  _ six _ , Deku,” Kacchan says, and Izuku folds his arms over his chest, hugging himself. “Your mom probably fucking hates me.”

Izuku shakes his head. “She d-doesn’t,” he answers. 

“Why the hell not?” Kacchan snarls, and Izuku can hear his footsteps get louder as he starts stomping. “After all that shit I did to you?”

“She doesn’t know,” Izuku replies, curling his fingers around his arms, squeezing tight into the cuts under his uniform. He doesn’t look at Kacchan, and he doesn’t breathe. 

“ _ What _ ?!” Kacchan hisses. “You didn’t fucking say anything?” 

“No,” Izuku whispers. “I didn’t.”

“I treated you like the shit beneath my shoes for  _ ten fucking years _ , and you didn’t tell your mom?” Kacchan sounds horrified, and Izuku glances over to see the absolutely  _ wrecked _ look on his face. His nose is wrinkled and his brows are furrowed, like they would be if he was going to snarl in anger, but his lips are open and his eyes are full of something that Izuku doesn’t recognize. Izuku realizes they’ve stopped walking, and he takes a step back, staring wide-eyed at Kacchan. 

“I didn’t want to worry her,” Izuku says. “And I didn’t want you to get in trouble.” It’s the truth, and maybe that’s why it hurts so bad when a  _ pained _ look crosses Kacchan’s face. 

“I told you to  _ kill _ yourself,” Kacchan whispers, “and you didn’t want to get me in trouble?”

“Let’s not fight,” Izuku pleads, and he can feel himself tearing up. “I don’t--I don’t want to talk about that,” he says, swallowing around the lump in his throat, because how could he possibly explain to Kacchan? What could he tell him? Not just,  _ I thought about it _ , not just  _ I considered it _ , but  _ I did it, I killed myself the day you told me to _ and  _ I kill myself at least once a week and sometimes it isn’t just because I have to _ . How could Izuku do that to him? 

Kacchan’s brows furrow even more, and Izuku can see the way there are tears in his eyes, too, and Izuku hates it. Kacchan lifts a hand, reaches like he’s going to touch Izuku’s face, but Izuku flinches back. He can’t help it; he’s buzzing with anxiety and some kind of deep, unstable upset that makes him want to bury his face in a pillow and scream. Kacchan jerks back, then drops his hand. 

“Is it--” Kacchan swallows. “Is it really fucking okay for me to come over this weekend?” He looks confused, like he’s looking past Izuku and not at him. 

“Y-Yeah,” Izuku says, rubbing his arm with one hand. “I’d like it, i-if you did.”

“Okay,” Kacchan says, sighing and looking Izuku over. “You okay, Deku?”

Izuku blinks, surprised, then nods. “Y-Yeah. Are you?”

Kacchan snorts, then starts walking again. “Don’t worry about me, shitty Deku. I’m fucking great.”

Izuku smiles at that and follows Kacchan, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

\--

It’s raining when Izuku sees the white haired villain again, the kind of rain that drowns out the normal sounds of the city and fills the air with a steady rhythm and coats the ground in a thin layer of standing water. Izuku’s already soaked through by the time he spots the villain, and he’s got his hoodie pulled up to cover his hair in the hopes that it’ll stop the dye from washing out in the rain. 

The white haired villain doesn’t seem to be faring well, either. His white hair is plastered to his head, and he’s wearing a thin, clear plastic poncho over his suit. It looks kind of hilarious, honestly, and Izuku can see that he has another one wrapped over his usual duffel bag. He’s practically jogging through the city, his footsteps making little splashes each time he takes a step, and with all of the noise he’s making, it’s almost  _ too _ easy for Izuku to follow him, so long as he’s willing to get wet. He’s just thankful that his boots are waterproof.

Izuku watches as the man stops outside of a boutique, a little store that’s long since closed for the night. Izuku can see pretty blue and yellow sundresses on the mannequins being displayed, and the awning that protects the entryway from the pouring rain is where the man stops. Izuku thinks, for a moment, that that’s the only reason the man has stopped, but just as Izuku scales the fire escape on the building next door, he sees a car pull up to the curb, a sleek, black thing with its brights on, setting the rain in front of it ablaze with yellow-white light. Izuku tries to catch a glimpse of who’s inside, but all he can see are heavily tinted windows. The front passenger door opens, and Izuku feels his mouth dry up with the first thing out of the door is a pair of metal rabbit ears, attached to a headband that disappears into sleek black hair. The woman from before steps out of the car, her back to Izuku. She’s wearing a heavy olive trench coat over the rest of her clothes, and she steps up onto the curb with those same metal platform boots, her feet well above the water on the ground. 

“L-Leadfoot,” the man gasps, blinking. “I didn’t think you were the one who was meeting me here.”

Leadfoot, apparently, tips her head slightly to the side as she steps under the awning. “I would rather not be the one to deal with you, Mr. Clean,” she sighs, “but plans have changed. Fury wanted me to deliver your next mission to you personally.” Izuku watches as she reaches into her coat and pulls out a small, rectangular piece of plastic.  _ It’s a flash drive _ , Izuku notes absently. Mr. Clean takes it with a shaking hand. 

“Is it--” He shakes his head. “Am I on the diplomatic team?” He stares at the flash drive. 

“Clean, putting you on the diplomatic team would be  _ asking _ to get screwed over.” Leadfoot sighs, tipping her head back just enough for Izuku to see the top edge of her metal mask. “No, you’re doing recon on the other guys.”

He whips his head up, looking at her. “That’s practically suicide,” he spits. “And you know it.”

Leadfoot shrugs. “I wanted to do it myself,” she says, sounding bored, “but Fury needs me for the diplomatic team, since Mouse is out of commission.” Clean crouches down, unzipping his duffel bag. Izuku can see blakc plastic inside, probably to protect the contents from the rain.

“What happened to Mousey?” He asks, not taking his eyes off of Leadfoot as he places the flash drive in some interior pocket. 

“Fury happened to her,” Leadfoot says with a shrug. “She decided to get smart with him again.”

Clean hisses through his teeth. “Damn. She’s not going to last another week at this rate.”

Leadfoot hums in agreement. “Yeah, well, she wouldn’t be the first. Do you have the report?” She takes a step towards Clean, who flinches back. “Relax, soapy. If I had a hit order on you, you’d already be dead.”

Clean shakes his head, taking a shaky breath. “Yeah, I have the stupid report. You gonna put in a good word with Fury for me?”

“No,” Leadfoot says, not missing a beat. “If you did more than the bare minimum, I’d consider it.” She taps her foot against the sidewalk. “I’m waiting.” Clean reaches into his bag, shuffling the contents around for a moment before pulling out a flash drive that looks identical to the one he’d just received from her. 

“I even got the stuff you wanted on that Avenging Angel character,” he says, and Izuku sees him grin as he holds the flash drive up to her. “That’s something more than the ‘bare minimum,’ yeah?” Leadfoot pauses, then takes the flash drive from him, placing it into her pocket and leaving her hands there with it. 

“It is,” she answers, her voice softer. “If you survive your next mission, I’ll make sure you get what you want.”

Clean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, if I survive. What an amazing gift.”

“Don’t get snarky,” she snaps back, and Clean flinches. “We’re done here.” She turns her back to him, facing towards where Izuku is. Izuku freezes as she looks up, staring directly at where he’s perched on the fire escape. He feels his heart start to thud painfully in his chest, and he inches back along the fire escape, ready to jump down if he needs to. He doesn’t know her quirk, though, and that scares him. She could stop him, make his fall non-lethal, and then where would he be? Izuku is cornered, effectively, and he can’t make himself move, can't make himself run as she makes eye contact with him. 

“And be more careful,” she says. “You’re attracting too much attention.” Izuku waits for her to point him out, to hurt him, but she doesn’t. She turns and steps off of the curb, opening the door to the car and sliding inside without another word. Clean stares after her, a confused look on his face. Izuku draws in a deep breath, and hauls himself up to the roof, his fingers slipping just a little with the rain.

He waits until Clean is out of sight before he jumps. He’s not going to let her remember him, not this time. 

\--

It’s strange,  _ trying _ to find Eraserhead. Izuku’s run into him plenty of times by accident, so he hadn’t really considered how he would find him when he meant to. He knows his general patrol route, but the issue is that Aizawa doesn’t always stick to the same route. If he’s running missions or if other heroes are on patrol, he’ll modify his route, avoiding areas that would already be covered. Izuku’s noticed he spends less time in the areas that Izuku patrols as Ace, and it makes him kind of proud of himself, in a strange way. Aizawa trusts him to keep that area under control, even if Izuku knows that it’s mostly small-time criminals and drunk stupidity in his area, anyway.

For that reason, Izuku isn’t on his normal route, right now. This part of the city is quieter, more industrial, and it reminds him of where he saw Leadfoot for the first time, but it thankfully isn’t the same area. There’s a bridge here that crosses over a shallow, muddy creek, and Izuku knows that Eraserhead sometimes patrols here after storms, like the heavy rain last night. Izuku doesn’t know the exact reason, but it’s probably because there are more accidents on the bridge when it’s wet out and the accidents that  _ do _ happen are worse. 

Izuku would just text Eraserhead, except he isn’t stupid enough to use his own phone to text a pro when he’s technically a criminal. That, and Aizawa already has his number saved under his real name; they’d all given their homeroom teachers their numbers and gotten a few staff numbers after the USJ incident. A necessary precaution, but one that completely prevents Izuku from using the number Aizawa gave him. 

So, Izuku walks along the side of the road that approaches the bridge. There are trees, here, little, recently-planted things. Izuku likes the way the wind ruffles their leaves, making a soft, whispery sound. It’s not raining tonight, thankfully, and his mom had helped him dry all of his equipment yesterday morning so that it’d be ready for tonight, so he’s warm and dry under his costume. The air still has a wet chill to it, the kind that promises more rain later, but Izuku is hopeful that he’ll be home before it starts. Washable hair dye and rain really aren’t the best combination, and he would prefer not to risk losing that element of his disguise in front of Eraserhead. Especially given that this is an encounter he  _ needs _ Eraserhead to remember.

Izuku finds himself sighing quietly in relief when he spots Eraserhead on the sidewalk of the bridge, standing with his capture weapon still wrapped tightly around his neck and shoulders. It looks like it’s early on in his patrol, judging by the way his hair is still only about as tangled as it was during class earlier that day, rather than the snarled mess that it has been the times Izuku encountered him later in the evening, pushing into the early morning. It’s clear the exact moment Aizawa spots him; he tilts his head just the slightest bit and starts walking towards Izuku just as Izuku steps onto the portion of the sidewalk that marks the start of the bridge. 

“Ace,” Aizawa greets, stopping when they’re about six feet apart. “Is everything alright?” He seems somewhat surprised to see Izuku here, which is fair; Izuku hasn’t ever been out this way at night before. 

“It’s fine,” Izuku says, sticking his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, mirroring the way Aizawa has his hands in his pockets. “I have some information I need to give you.” 

Aizawa grunts in acknowledgement. “Go on.”

“The villain group working with Fury includes a male villain with white hair named Mr. Clean,” Izuku starts, imagining his analysis page in his head. “His quirk allows him to make things slippery by touching them with his hands. He wears gloves normally, so it’s like--” Izuku barely stops himself from comparing it to how Kacchan secretes nitroglycerin from his palms, catching himself just in time, “it’s likely he can’t turn the ability off and on at will. He uses the ability to infiltrate hero agencies, including the one that Transplant and Air Jet work at.” Izuku takes a breath, and Aizawa raises a palm to stop him. 

“Kid, how did you find this out?” Izuku can’t place the tone in his voice.

“I followed Clean multiple times over the past three weeks,” Izuku says, speaking quickly so Aizawa won’t have a chance to interrupt. “He’s been meeting with a female villain going by the name Leadfoot. I don’t know her quirk, but it’s obvious from what she’s said that she’s higher up in the organization than Clean. She’s spoken to Fury directly, and she seems to pick up reports and deliver missions for him. She wanted information on Avenging Angel, and Clean said he got it for her.” Izuku swallows. “I don’t know much else, but they have some kind of a diplomatic team that’s working with other villains, I think. They’re sending Clean to do reconnaissance on them, and Clean seemed really nervous about it.” 

“If this is your idea of not getting involved,” Aizawa mutters, gritting his teeth. 

“I never promised that I wouldn’t,” Izuku says, shrugging. “Was any of that helpful?”

“Was--” Aizawa cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Yeah, it’s  _ helpful _ . Were you spotted?” 

“I...” Izuku pauses, swallows around the dryness in his mouth. “Not by Clean,” he says, and Aizawa tenses up. 

“Leadfoot saw you?” He sounds angry, like those first first days of classes. “Leadfoot saw you, and you got  _ away? _ ”

“She didn’t chase me,” Izuku says, blinking. Aizawa sounds almost scared, like he’s worried for Izuku. It’s strange, because Izuku thought he’d just be angry at him for getting caught, but there’s something else in Aizawa’s tone.

“Leadfoot has killed over two dozen officers and about half as many civilian witnesses since she started showing up around ten months ago,” Aizawa says, voice low. “We’ve kept news of her from reaching the media because she kills every witness she can get her hands on. She’s  _ dangerous _ , Ace, extremely so.” He pauses. “How do I know you’re not working with her?”

Izuku blinks. “You don’t,” he answers, because he can’t think of anything else to say. “But if I was, wouldn’t I have claimed she didn’t spot me at all? If she apparently kills everyone who sees her, it would be more suspicious for me to say she’d seen me in the first place when I could just say I didn’t get caught at all.”

“Hmm,” Aizawa grunts. “For the record, I believe you. What you said lines up with what I already knew, but,” he takes his hands out of his pockets and folds them over his chest. “You need to stop chasing after this group. I’m not kidding around when I say that they will not hesitate to kill you if they catch you.”

Izuku can’t help but chuckle at that. “I know,” he says, and thinks,  _ I’m counting on it _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: nothing special for this chapter i don't think!
> 
> mmmmm these OCs.... when i tell y'all im invested in them, i mean it. i have been developing certain members of this group for ages and it feels so good to have izuku figure stuff out!
> 
> next chapter will be the sports festival part one!!! im SO EXCITED for that arc!! i also have a playlist that i listen to when i write this fic! some of the songs are just stuff i like, and some have stuff to do with the fic itself! i add stuff to it every so often, too! pls ignore the name on my youtube channel lol, i go by jude rn and the name on my youtube is actually my deadname RIP
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLO0K8J64otHa417jBWkVm42V7Ff-rBa0C


	16. sports festival, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku learns some interesting things about the villains plaguing the town as he and his friends prepare for the sports festival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys!!! im really excited for this chapter so imma just :3c

On the morning of the sports festival, the air has finally cleared from the days of rain, leaving it a beautiful, bright morning. It’s not hot or cold, but Izuku is both shivering and sweating in his sports uniform anyway as he stands with class 1-A, the clean morning sunlight illuminating the arena he stands in. The fine gravel under his feet--almost sand, really--crunches the tiniest bit as he shifts back and forth anxiously. He can tell he isn’t the only one whose nerves are getting to them; beside him, Uraraka keeps swallowing, and Iida is clenching and unclenching his fists, over and over again. Izuku watches as Midnight takes the stage, a microphone in hand. 

“Welcome, everyone, to UA’s annual sports festival!” Midnight smiles, extending a hand to the audience and to the students lined up with their classes. Despite the supposedly limited audience, there’s enough people to make a heavy roar of applause that makes a bead of sweat roll down Izuku’s face as he bites at his lower lip. They’ve been preparing for this for so long, and it’s so  _ important _ . Izuku needs a good work-study and a good reputation his first year, if he wants to try and make it as the first legally quirkless hero. No agency will take him if his record isn’t spotless, and he isn’t so optimistic to think he’ll get a work-study if he doesn't place at least in the top three. 

He’s not really listening as Midnight talks about the history of the event, announces the third years and the second years. It’s probably rude of him, but Izuku focuses on his breathing instead, tapping his fingers against the outside of his thighs in time to his heartbeat.  _ I can’t waste my energy being anxious _ , he tells himself.  _ I need this adrenaline later, for the events. _

He’s thought about it a lot, and he wants to get through the first two events with only two deaths max. His current limit appears to be around four or five deaths, and he doesn’t want to be in anything but top shape for the tournament. He’s also not sure when his quirk will reset him to when he does die; so far, it seems to put him out of danger, but there’s no  _ real _ danger to the sports festival. Any time Izuku has killed himself just for the sake of dying, he always resets to only moments before he did it, meaning that there’s a chance he won’t be able to use his quirk to redo the events at  _ all _ . He’ll certainly try, if it comes to that, but Izuku is intent on winning the first event  _ without _ needing his quirk. 

“Representing this year’s first years, from class 1-A, we have Katsuki Bakugou,” Midnight says, the mention of his class and Kacchan snapping him out of his thoughts. “Bakugou here placed first in the entrance exams, so he will be speaking on behalf of the first years. Bakugou, if you will.” Midnight gestures and Izuku watches Kacchan scowl, stomping his way up onto the stage. Izuku bites his lip, thinking of the speeches from the second and third years that he’d admittedly ignored. From the way the audience had cheered and the students had clapped along mildly, though, it was clear they’d said something positive and inspirational. As Kacchan grins, his face already taken with that sort of manic anger he wears in battle, Izuku doesn’t think this will be the same kind of speech. 

His fears are confirmed when Kacchan starts to snarl into the microphone, spitting something about how he’s going to win. The funny thing is that after his first few words, Izuku can’t even hear him over the muttering and the booing from the crowd. Izuku shifts nervously, looking at the faces of the other first-year classes, and he has to swallow around a lump in his throat when he sees the way they’re all glaring at class 1-A like they had personally insulted them. Izuku supposes that they had, considering the way Kacchan is growling into the microphone. Midnight looks nervous where she stands on stage, and she nudges Kacchan aside, taking the microphone back from him. 

“Well, that was...” She clears her throat. “That was certainly something. With that out of the way, I’d like to announce the first event for this year’s first-year competition!” Izuku clenches his jaw as Midnight smiles, leaning forward to listen even though her voice is clear now, with the audience going quiet in anticipation. “The first event this year will be an obstacle course! We’ll start soon, so all eleven first-year classes should make their way to the start as soon as I’m finished explaining.

“The course will take you a total of four kilometers around the outside of the festival stadium,” Midnight says, gesturing at a large archway that’s labeled as the starting point. “You may, of course, use your quirks as much as you’d like, but don’t leave the course! Purposefully incapacitating another student is also banned. Now,” she waves. “Go line up at the start!”

Izuku follows with the rest of his class as they make their way, walking quickly, toward the large corridor that marks the entrance to the obstacle course. It’s closed off, blocking Izuku’s view of whatever the course actually contains, but he’s not surprised by it. The metal barrier is reminiscent of the UA barrier, and it’s a strange kind of familiarity when Izuku looks up at it. He takes a deep breath, forcing his muscles to uncoil and his breathing to smooth out.  _ No matter what happens, this is just a festival _ , he reminds himself.  _ It won’t be as bad as USJ, because nobody will die. Well, except for maybe me _ , he thinks with a small smile. 

When the gate opens, he’s taking off before he has a chance to think about it. He sees the robots right away, of course, and he recognizes them with a grin.  _ I know how to defeat them _ , he thinks with glee, because he’d already dealt with them many, many times in the entrance exam. He’s running, pushing past students like when he snuck out during the media infiltration, and the sensation of his feet slapping against pavement is a comforting one, something he’s felt over and over again on his patrols. Without realizing it, Izuku’s been preparing for this for a long, long time, and he grins as he pushes past a group of students just as a blanket of ice grows under their feet with a crackling sound.  _ Todoroki, _ he notes, and he turns his head to see Todoroki, Kacchan, and Yaoyorozu running almost even with each other. 

Izuku turns his gaze back to the front, eyeing the robots fast approaching. They’re not moving particularly quick, instead walking around with slow, controlled motions, but Izuku doesn’t slow as he approaches a two-pointer from the exams, crouching for just a second to prepare himself for a running leap at the thing. The ball of his foot hits it square on the forehead of its metal face with a satisfying clank, and it collapses underneath him. Izuku digs his heels into its shoulder, using the momentum of its fall to propel himself forward again. It’s like he’s on the obstacle course alone, really, because the only things he’s focused on is running forward, dodging the bodies of falling robots and grinding his feet against the track. The muscles in his calves burn the kind of good pain that comes when he’s on patrol, running through empty streets and across lonely rooftops, and the clanging and shouts of the others fighting the robots is the only thing that reminds him he  _ isn’t _ on patrol. He keeps running, a grin stretched wide on his face as he passes the last robot, a zero pointer that he can already see crusting over with ice. 

A piece of debris, a big flat piece of metal, starts to fly past him, and impulsively, he reaches out and grabs it, running with it tucked under one arm. It’s heavy and awkward, but he remembers the entrance exam, when he’d needed a piece of metal to use as a lever to get Uraraka out from under the rubble that had trapped her. He prays that his effort here will pay off later, and if it doesn’t, well, it’s not like he can’t try again. 

He sees the next obstacle and barely even slows down. The ropes that connect the stone pillars, hanging high above the bottom of the track, are thin, but they’re not wet, and they’re not cold or slippery. Izuku stops running right at the edge of the fall, his shoes gritting against the ground as he skids to a stop. He shoves the piece of metal sheeting he’s carrying into the waistband of his pants, and it’s uncomfortable and awkward, but it leaves both of his arms free. Wrapping his hands around the rope and crawling across is easy, after so many nights climbing buildings and fire escapes in the pouring rain or without any light. The rope is soft and sturdy under his hands, and he notes idly that he has the added benefit of not being afraid of falling, not after so many swan dives off of roofs.  _ I guess I have Kacchan to thank for that one _ , he thinks to himself as his childhood friend blasts past him, his explosions firing him easily across the gaps between the pillars. 

Izuku forces himself to focus on putting one hand in front of the other as more people pass him, like a girl with pink hair and a jetpack, of all things. He knows that he’s still ahead of most of the pack, at least, and he doesn’t know what the last obstacle will be. He can still catch up, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t frustrating for him to be crawling upside-down along the ropes as others can literally  _ fly _ across. It isn’t fair, and it reminds him of what he’s had to do, how many times he’s had to die to get here.  _ But it doesn’t matter _ , Izuku thinks,  _ because I’m going to beat them anyway. _

Izuku hauls himself onto solid ground at the end of the pit obstacle, his hands just starting to ache from being tightly clenched around the rope. He stands up and takes a moment, chest rising and falling with each breath, to glance behind him as he pulls out his piece of metal and tucks it back under one arm. It hits him in a wave of relief, shaky and wonderful, when he sees that the pit trap is still absolutely crawling with other students.  _ I’m not behind _ , he thinks, smiling and turning to run forward again.  _ I’m ahead! _

He sees the empty field up ahead, and for just a moment, he’s confused. Then he sees the sign, bright and happy, that says “Warning! Mines!” in all caps. Up ahead, he can see Todoroki and Kacchan, neck and neck as they make their way across the minefield, awkwardly picking their way through the lumps of loose soil. It’s making their progress slow, and Izuku steps forward, a plan already forming in his mind. 

A couple of students walk past him as he starts to dig up the mines using that piece of metal as a shovel, but he ignores their incredulous glances. He sees one of the mines go off as a student misjudges a step, and the bright pink explosion gives him hope that this will work instead of just killing him and making him restart the whole race. 

The mines are packed fairly densely, and the soil that covers them is loose and damp, probably from the rain that past week. Izuku’s fingers become coated in a layer of damp earth, a crumbly, sandy brown substance that smells like pine trees and clean water. His stack of mines, still with earth clinging to each one, grows higher, and he decides that it’s done when it starts taking him longer than he’s comfortable with for him to find a mine he hasn’t dug up yet. He takes the sheet of metal, holding it in front of him with both hands and takes a deep breath before slamming it down onto the mines, jumping on top of it as quickly as he can manage.

The force of the blast is nothing compared to the noise, and it reminds Izuku of that battle training exercise with Kacchan on the second day of school. His ears ring, and pink dust fills his vision as he soars forward, gripping to the front of his metal sled with all of his might. 

It hits the ground with an impact that rattles Izuku’s joints, but he doesn’t stop, picking up the shield and running forward. He can see Kacchan and Todoroki both running still, with Todoroki looking back at him with gritted teeth. Izuku can’t keep up with them, especially not as Todoroki starts to freeze the ground underneath himself, rendering him immune to the mines, and as Kacchan simply uses the blasts of his quirk to fly just above the ground, only stepping onto the earth every ten seconds or so. Izuku clenches his jaw, and still running, he moves his shield in front of him again, slapping it onto the mine he’d been about to step on with as much force as he can muster, harder than the first time. 

It works, and Izuku hears a cascade of explosions from all around him as he loses his grip on the shield, flying through the air like he’d been shot out of a rocket. His hands flail uselessly beside him as he instinctively reaches out to try and catch himself on something but feels only air. It’s kind of like jumping from a roof, except he doesn’t know what’s coming at the end. 

When he hits the ground, he hears a loud cheer that he knows can only mean one thing, but he still doesn’t believe it until he pushes himself up onto his knees, looking back to see the finish line a few feet behind him, just as he sees Todoroki leap across it with a dark look on his face and beads of sweat on his forehead, his hair damp and sticking to his skin. Izuku stares, still dazed as Kacchan barrels across the finish line, too. 

Izuku stands up, then, staring out at the track, feeling other people brush by as they run across the line. It feels like more and more people run through every second, and he doesn’t move until he feels a hand on his arm, tugging him. 

“Deku, did you really finish first?” It’s Uraraka, her face red from exertion and her mouth in a wide grin. “You’re amazing! C’mon, let's go sit for the results. I think we’re both moving to the next round for sure, though.” She tugs on his arm, and he blinks, snapping out of his daze. His stomach feels like it’s filled with something carbonated, and he smiles wide.

“I-I got first!” He chirps as Uraraka leads him to the area in front of the stage, with the results projecting onto the screen and names being added as more students finish. Uraraka giggles.

“You did! You got first place!” Uraraka squeezes him in a crushing, sweaty hug as they stop walking standing in front of the stage. “I knew we’d both get through.” Her voice is warm and happy as she lets him go, still leaning slightly on his arm as Midnight walks onto the stage.

“Alright, everyone! I’m going to go ahead and deliver the results as well as some information on the next event, and then we’ll have a short break.” She clicks a button on a small remote in her hand, and the screen behind her shifts, showing only some of the places. Izuku sees his name at the top, next to the number 1, and his smile is so wide it stings his cheeks. 

“The first forty-two students to finish the race will move on to round 2! The second round will be a cavalry battle, with the goal of obtaining headbands from other students to rack up the most points. Points will be assigned starting at five points for the forty-second place, increasing by five per place up until the second place.” Midnight smiles. “The first place student will be the exception, and will be worth ten million points!” She clicks a button, and the point values appear by their names. Izuku sees his name, with 10 million points, just above Todoroki with 205. Izuku blinks, not processing it for a moment.

“Ten million?” Uraraka breathes next to him, her voice filled with awe and surprise. “Everyone is going to target you...”

“I’ll explain more, including how teams will be selected, after a ten-minute break! Take this time to use the bathroom, rehydrate, and change into a new uniform if yours was damaged during the first portion. Anyone who needs first aid should go to the white and red tent located in the northwest corner of the stadium. I’ll see you in ten!” Midnight grins, flicking off the microphone, and Izuku swallows around the huge lump in his throat.

“I’m going to go use the restroom,” Izuku whispers, turning and walking away without waiting for Uraraka’s response. He isn’t even sure she hears him.

Izuku walks, legs stiff and steps uneven, towards the bathroom. He ignores the way he can still hear the murmur of his friends, can still make out the buzz of the audience. He listens to the drum of his heart in his ears, a steady beat that his thoughts match.  _ Ten million points. Ten million points. Ten million points.  _ Izuku tries to match his steps to his heartbeat, too, but it’s too fast. 

He slips into the bathroom, the one for students competing in the competition. It smells like lemon-scented cleaner and antibacterial soap, and it’s silent except for the steady drip of water from one of the sink faucets. Izuku stops in front of that sink and turns the knob, shutting the water off the rest of the way, then looks in the mirror, at his face.

He’s pale and sweating, and there are little pink scuff marks on his cheek and shoulder, probably from the mines. He reaches a hand up to wipe his cheek off, but when he sees the way his fingers are shaking, hard, and he decides against it, instead dropping his hand to grip tight against the surface of the sink. 

The thing is, Izuku could have made it through a cavalry battle, under normal circumstances. He could have formed a team with the right people, could have done his best and worked hard, and he probably would have been able to get to the third round. If he’d had a quirk, one that his friends knew about anyway, he could have scrounged up a team that would have sided with him and fought to win. If he hadn’t gotten first place, he would be able to get a team together despite his quirklessness, because he wouldn’t be the biggest target in the game. But now? With his ten million points and his quirklessness, he’s just a big, useless liability. It doesn’t  _ matter _ that he got through the obstacle course without using a quirk. What matters is that for the cavalry battle, not having a quirk will make him vulnerable and  _ everyone _ knows it. He messed up. 

Izuku walks, slowly and calmly, to the last bathroom stall. He’s never done it this way in public, but he can’t get anywhere high enough, not now, and it’s not like he has any other way. He locks the stall door and sits on the floor, the tile cool under his skin. He listens, and he can still hear the faucet dripping.  _ It must be broken. _

Izuku reaches into the pocket of his pants and pulls out his little pill case, opens it and pulls out his razor. It shines in the bright fluorescent lighting, glimmering a light silver tone. The brand name is embossed on the side, and Izuku thinks it’s kind of funny that the last thing he reads before he dies, the last bit of language he experiences, is so often that brand name. He rolls up his sleeves, exposing the scars and scabs just above and below his elbow joint, from his cutting over the past few weeks. There isn’t a single scar from any of his suicides, but he still knows where to press the blade and how hard to pull, how to dig it in deep and press like he’s trying to cut between the two bones in his forearm. He does his right wrist first; he’d learned a while back he can bleed out more quickly, this way. The blood starts bubbling up almost immediately, and he switches hands, cutting down his left arm and dropping the razor to the floor with a sigh. 

He leans back, rests the back of his head against the tiled wall behind him, and shuts his eyes. He can feel the pulse of his blood as it leaves through the burning wounds on his arms, but more than that, he can feel that sensation of calm, clear relaxation that he always gets in these moments. It’s nice, and Izuku feels at peace, even as he feels a rushing in his ears and the icy sensation of blood loss. 

He’s growing dizzy fast, his blood forming a puddle under him and soaking his pants, when he hears the door to the bathroom open. He’s too far gone to flinch, really, but he does open one eye, watching with blurry vision as a pair of standard sports uniform shoes take a step inside, then freeze.  _ They must smell the blood _ , Izuku thinks.  _ Or maybe I’m panting _ . His breath does feel kind of shallow and quick, but that’s normal for bleeding out. He’s grown to kind of like it. It makes it seem faster, makes him fade into the blackness more quickly than if he tries to calm his breathing.

He hears the frantic beat of feet against tile, and he shuts his eyes again, just as whoever it is bangs on the door to his stall. Izuku takes the closest thing he can to a deep breath. He’d be worried about them saving him, but the only thing he can feel at the moment is a pleasant buzz in his chest, gathering around his ribs. He doesn’t even know if his arms are still there. He wonders if he can move them, but he doesn't bother trying.

“Fuck,” the person on the other side of the door says. His voice is familiar to Izuku, and maybe that’s why Izuku isn’t surprised to see the latch of the stall door ice over before it’s broken by a neat hit with a hand. Todoroki pushes his way inside, mismatched eyes wide with fear, and Izuku can only think, _ I don’t remember opening my eyes again _ .

“Midoriya?” Todoroki breathes, pausing for a moment before rushing forward, sliding to the ground. Izuku watches the way his knees land in the pool of blood, the way the dark liquid soaks into the legs of his sports uniform. 

“Mm,” Izuku hums in response, not resisting as Todoroki grabs one of his arms and starts pressing his hand onto the wound. It hurts, but Izuku doesn’t really care because he can see the way his blood keeps pulsing out, the blood escaping between Todoroki’s fingers. Todoroki is strong, but Izuku’s heart is pumping his blood through the artery that he’d severed, and Todoroki can’t possibly hold it all in. 

“Why?” Todoroki says, a frantic whisper as he presses his palms into the wound, staring with wide eyes at Izuku’s face. “Why would you--” he cuts himself off, shaking his head and looking back down at Izuku’s arm. 

“‘S okay,” Izuku says, lifting the arm Todoroki isn’t holding. A stream of blood falls from it, and Todoroki’s face goes pale when Izuku reaches up to place his hand on his cheek. “I’ll come back,” Izuku whispers, the edges of his vision already going black. He can tell from the way his entire body is buzzing like it’s asleep, from the way the bleeding in his arms has started to slow, that it’s almost over. That he’s beyond saving. 

He can’t hear what Todoroki says next as his eyes slip shut, but he sees the desperate look on his face, the beading of tears in mismatched eyes, and Izuku finds himself so, so grateful that others don’t remember these pieces of time his quirk undoes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: more graphic than usual suicide
> 
> HEY I LOVE YALL. today slapped big time was very epic im so excited to write tomorrow's chapter!! and dw, we WILL get back to the villains! the sports festival just kind of cuts into the middle of that stuff time wise (but it's still plot relevant :D)


	17. sports festival, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku got first place, then died! oh and someone saw him do it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies in advance i feel like this is hot garbage <3

Izuku blinks awake in front of the barrier that blocks the obstacle course, and he’s confused for a second, because wasn’t he with Todoroki? The gate slides open, and people start to run, and he remembers all in a rush.

He stumbles through the first part of the race, copying his movements from before and slamming the robot to the ground, running without thinking. It’s all a blur, fading into the background in his mind because he just can’t get the image of Todoroki’s face out of his head. His classmate’s face, pale and horrified, his eyes so wide it looked like it hurt. Izuku’s hand, pale from blood loss and his vision shaky, reaching up with blood on his skin. Todoroki, kneeling in dark, coagulating blood. Todoroki, asking him why, desperately trying to put pressure on his wounds. 

Izuku’s going slower than last time, but he can’t bring himself to care.  _ It’s not like getting first place will actually help me _ , he thinks sullenly as he starts to crawl across the ropes again. He hadn’t bothered to pick up the piece of metal sheeting this time; he won’t need to beat Kacchan and Todoroki. Izuku doesn’t even want to see Todoroki right now. Or maybe that’s what he needs  _ badly _ , he can’t tell. He feels dizzy, still, like he’s still bleeding out, and impulsively, he looks up to his arms. The fabric of his sports uniform is undamaged, clean and bright. It feels wrong. 

He remembers the first day of class, Aizawa telling him that  _ just trying your best isn’t enough _ , and Izuku thinks that  _ they’re giving me mixed messages here _ ! Because it’s contradictory, that if he finishes first in this stupid race that he’s branded as the target for the cavalry battle. It’s contradictory, and Izuku wonders if the people who came up with the race even  _ considered _ that. If they even knew that Aizawa had told him that.  _ It doesn’t matter, _ he thinks _ , because they don’t know I won in the first place. Nobody but me will  _ ever _ know. _

Izuku hauls himself up after the slow climb across the ropes, and the minefield this time doesn’t come with any bright ideas or any clever tricks. He walks as quickly as he dares, picking his way through the mines and weaving between the clumps in the soil. It helps that he’s seen some of them before, that he doesn’t hesitate, afraid. Some of the other students seem nervous, even as Present Mic’s voice explains that the mines stun but don’t seriously injure. Izuku practically throws himself across the field, a little more reckless than he maybe needs to be, but he can’t help the way his chest aches with jealousy when the crowd starts cheering and he  _ knows _ that Todoroki just crossed the finish line. Or maybe Kacchan; maybe Izuku’s involvement is why Todoroki pulled ahead of Kacchan in the first place. It doesn’t matter. Izuku runs, keeps a steady pace, until he crosses the finish line himself. The victory feels dull. 

He walks to the stage area, like he’d done with Uraraka the last time, except he doesn’t wait. He looks up to the board, sees his name beside the small number fourteen written there, his name just under Tsuyu’s. He stares at it, unblinking. Todoroki had gotten first, after all. Izuku thinks he probably deserves it, after what Izuku made him watch, whether he remembers or not. 

“Deku!” Uraraka is breathless as she runs up to him, a happy smile on her face. “You beat me,” she says, and Izuku is struck by the fact that there isn’t any surprise on her face. Last time, there had been, he’s sure of it. He’d thought she’d been surprised to see him succeed at all, and he hadn’t even questioned it--it was natural for someone to be surprised at that. He hadn’t thought it had been just because he’d gotten  _ first _ , but at him doing well in  _ any  _ way. But she doesn’t seem surprised or bothered that he’s beat her, just happy for him, and that’s what snaps through the haze hanging over him. He blinks, then smiles back at her.

“I-I think we’re both moving on to the next round!” He says, giving her a bright grin to match her own, and she nods eagerly.

“Right! I dunno what they’re doing for the second round, but there’s no way we didn’t make the cut,” she answers, reaching up to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Looks like first and second place are from our class. Todoroki and Bakugou really are something, aren’t they?”

Izuku nods, glancing to the side, where Kacchan is fuming. There’s a wide circle of empty space between him and any of the other students waiting, probably because of the explosions sparking wildly off of his palms, even though his hands are down by his sides. He’s looking up, his head tilted back to watch the leaderboard, and his expression is full of an anger that Izuku knew to expect, from years of watching Kacchan. It’s close to the expression he’d had one time that Izuku beat him on a math final, but worse, and Izuku winces internally.  _ Todoroki is in for a rough time when Kacchan gets to him _ , he thinks.

Izuku glances around, ignoring Midnight as she steps onto the stage and starts explaining. Her words are the exact same as last time, so Izuku doesn’t feel bad tuning her out as his eyes settle on Todoroki. He’s at the front of the pack, his uniform barely damaged except for a thin pink scuff near his left hip. Izuku wonders if he has trouble seeing out of his left eye; it doesn’t  _ look _ like the eye itself is damaged. Todoroki stares up at the leaderboard as it populates with the point totals of the forty-two students who passed, and he looks as calm and impassive as ever, even when his name lights up with the ten million points. Izuku’s own name has 145 points next to it, and Izuku lets out a breath that he hadn’t realized he was holding.  _ That’s much more manageable _ , he thinks. He tunes in as he recognizes the end of Midnight’s speech.

“I’ll explain more, including how teams will be selected, after a ten minute break! Take this time to use the bathroom, rehydrate, and change into a new uniform if yours was damaged during the first portion. Anyone who needs first aid should go to the white and red tent located in the northwest corner of the stadium. I’ll see you in ten!” Midnight grins, flicking off the microphone, and Izuku takes a steadying breath. He looks over to Todoroki, and sure enough, the man walks off in the direction of the bathrooms. Izuku had been wondering if it was just a coincidence or if Todoroki had noticed him leaving and followed.

As Izuku is watching him, Todoroki glances back, his eyes meeting Izuku’s. His face is calm, impassive, but Izuku thinks he sees his brows twitch for just a second, something akin to confusion. Todoroki blinks, then turns away, walking just the same as he had before. Izuku thinks he might have imagined it. 

This time, Izuku doesn’t haul himself off to the bathroom. He looks over to Uraraka, who’s looking right back at him, her head tilted to the side, slightly. From over her shoulder, he can see Iida and Tsuyu approaching, and Izuku waves at them. Uraraka blinks, turning to look, and then she waves too. 

“Hey guys!” She says, and Izuku can hear the smile in her voice. “You made it through!”

“We all did,” Iida says, puffing out his chest a little bit. “All of Class 1-A is moving on to the cavalry battle.”

Tsuyu nods, lifting a finger to her mouth thoughtfully. “I wonder how the teams will be selected, ribbit.” She taps her finger once, twice on her skin. “They may decide to do it randomly.”

“I hope not,” Izuku says, swallowing. He doesn’t want to have to deal with the uncertainty of resetting, if that’s the case. There’s no telling what team he’d get put with, and the other teams would change, too, meaning that his strategies from before wouldn’t help. It’d be pretty much the worst case scenario.

“Why,” an unfamiliar voice says, sneering. “Because then you wouldn’t be able to stick with your precious  _ classmates _ ?” They say the last word like it’s an insult, like a dirty word, and Izuku turns to see a blonde man with bright blue grey eyes, a nasty smirk on his face. He’s wearing a sports uniform, and he looks vaguely familiar. 

“Who are you?” Uraraka asks before Izuku can get the chance, her face twisted in a confused frown.

“I’m not surprised you haven’t heard of me,” the boy says, rolling his eyes. “Class 1-A is too absorbed in their own lives to even  _ look _ at the other classes, isn’t that right?” He shrugs, a confident smile on his face as his eyes narrow slightly. “My name is Neito Monoma, and I’m from class 1-B, you know, the  _ other _ hero class.” He’s glaring daggers at them, and Izuku doesn’t have to look at Iida to know that their class president is bristling.

“Monoma,” Izuku says, giving him a pleasant smile. “It’s nice to meet you. I look forward to seeing your performance in the cavalry battle.” He gives Monoma the same face he gave to teachers in middle school, to potential bullies before they had decided whether or not they’d hit him. The impassive, empty smile, polite and non confrontational. 

“Midoriya, is it?” Monoma narrows his eyes, his lips turning up in a strange smile that makes Izuku’s skin crawl. “You’re the quirkless one, hmm? I wonder why they let you into the hero course at all.” Izuku blinks, not surprised by the comment, but it still stings. He opens his mouth to reply, but he’s cut off by Tsuyu stepping in front of him.

“Monoma,” she croaks, her voice low and dark. “I think you should leave, ribbit.” Izuku glances over at her, and he sees Iida nod, agreeing with her. Monoma rolls his eyes, unbothered.

“What, do you like keeping him as a pet? I will admit, he looks like he’d be awfully fun to tease.” Monoma tilts his head, reaching a hand out toward Izuku. “I wonder--”

A large hand, the palm nearly the length of Monoma’s torso, suddenly wraps around him from behind, tugging him back before he can grab Izuku. Izuku blinks, looking at the orange-haired girl holding Monoma, looking irritated. 

“Can you  _ please _ behave for just ten minutes, Monoma?” She takes a breath, releasing Monoma at her side. “I left to get water, and when I come back, what do I find you doing? Terrorizing class 1-A?”

“Kendou, they  _ deserve _ it,” Monoma replies, pouting but not making a move to walk towards Izuku. He folds his arms over his chest, a scowl on his face. 

“They absolutely do not,” Kendou retorts, smacking him on the shoulder, then turning to look at Izuku and his friends. “I’m sorry for his  _ behavior _ . He has  _ mental problems _ .”

Monoma squawks, elbowing her. “I do  _ not! _ ” Kendou shoves him back, looking unimpressed. 

“C’mon, asshole, let's go find the rest of our class,” she says, leading him away from the class 1-A group. Izuku stares after them, watches as they squabble and argue. 

“Midoriya,” Tsuyu croaks, “Are you alright?”

Izuku blinks. “Huh? I-I’m fine!” He says turning back to look at her. His voice is a little shaky, but he feels fine, really. 

“Jeez, that guy is so rude,” Uraraka says, crossing her arms over her chest. “He said all of that awful stuff about you, Deku.”

Izuku shrugs. “That really wasn’t that bad,” he says, not really seeing the problem. It’s not like it was untrue, either. It  _ was _ a wonder why he was in the hero course. His friends aren’t keeping him as a  _ pet _ , but that’s more due to their own kindness, rather than some special trait of Izuku’s. Being compared to an animal isn’t new to him, and calling him a pet, saying he’d be fun to tease, isn’t really anything that gets to him, not at this point in his life.

Uraraka frowns. “Well, it wasn’t okay for him to say that. He doesn’t even  _ know  _ you.” She sighs, dropping her arms to her sides, opening her mouth to say something else, but an announcement interrupts her.

“Hey listeners!” Present Mic’s voice booms through the stadium. “It’s time to explain the cavalry battle in more detail, so listen up!” Izuku and his friends turn back to the stage where Midnight had been. They hadn't really moved, so they just have to look up to see the projector screen. It’s showing Present Mic’s face, a video clearly taken from the announcer’s stand. 

“For the second part of the sports festival, it’ll be just as Midnight explained. You’ll be competing to get headbands from each other, with point values assigned according to your rank in the first round.” The screen changes, showing their points once again. “The headbands will be worn by the rider of the cavalry team. Teams may have between two and four members, with a maximum of one rider. Headbands may be worn on the head or neck, but must not be hidden. Quirk usage is allowed, but you may not intentionally injure another participant.

“You will be allowed to select your own teams! You have ten minutes to assemble your teams, and then we’ll be starting. The top four teams will move on to the next and final round. Happy selecting!” Present Mic whoops loudly, and the audience breaks into cheers while the crowd of students on the ground dissolves into chatter. Izuku turns to Uraraka, seeing her already looking at him.

“Deku, do you want to team up?” she asks, a smile on her face. “Me, you, Iida, and Tsuyu can--”

“Actually, Uraraka,” Iida interrupts, looking uncomfortable. “I would like to work with another group. I... As much as I value our friendship, it is also very much the case that in this endeavor, we are rivals.” Iida swallows, his jaw tensing. 

“I have another team in mind for myself as well, ribbit.” Tsuyu looks apologetic. 

“T-That’s okay!” Izuku cuts in, and Uraraka nods beside him. “Good luck, you two!”

Iida nods quickly, turning and marching away. Tsuyu dips her head, turning and walking over to Shouji where he and Mineta are talking. Izuku wonders if, in the permanent timeline, she and Mineta had still been in the flood zone together. He’d never asked. 

“Who should we team up with, Deku?” Uraraka tugs on his arm, refocusing him. Izuku hums in reply, thinking as he looks out over the field. Most people are already organizing into teams, but... As Izuku scans the field, he spots Todoroki, standing in the center of the field, alone. He’s looking out at the others, looking almost uncertain.  _ He doesn’t have any close friends _ , Izuku realizes.  _ And nobody wants to become a target because of the ten million points _ . Izuku knows how that feels, and as Todoroki’s gaze meets his own, Izuku smiles.

“I have an idea,” he says, walking toward Todoroki. Uraraka follows him, and Izuku watches Todoroki blink as they approach.

“Midoriya,” Todoroki says, voice flat. 

“Todoroki,” Izuku responds. “Let’s team up.” He holds out a hand to Todoroki, and Todoroki  _ flinches _ , just the tiniest bit, but Izuku sees it. It’s a small motion, just the tensing of Todoroki’s shoulders and the gritting of his teeth, the smallest flash of panic in his eyes, but Izuku catches it. He’s used to reading people from his years of trying to judge who would make fun of him in class but leave him alone after and who would corner him and try to break his ribs. 

“Todoroki?” Izuku asks, lowers his voice. Todoroki blinks, shaking his head slightly.

“Yes, we... we can team up.” He says, glancing from Izuku to Uraraka and back to Izuku. “It’s just the two of you?”

Izuku nods. “We should try to find a fourth, considering your point count.” He gestures to the leaderboard. “It’ll make things easier.”

“Ohoh,” Izuku startles at an unfamiliar female voice. “I think I can help make things  _ easier _ .” Izuku turns to see the pink haired girl who’d soared across the pit trap in the obstacle course, a muscular girl with eyes that look like the crosshairs of a gun. 

“Who are you?” Todoroki asks, voice short. 

“I’m Mei Hatsume, future CEO of Hatsume Industries!” She says brightly, a smile splitting her face. “And with my babies, you three will be a shoe-in for the tournament!” She slaps the large bag she’s carrying, and something inside rustles with a metallic sound. 

“Your... babies?” Uraraka’s brows are furrowed in a mixture of confusion and concern.

“Yup!” Hatsume reaches into the bag, rooting around in it for a moment before pulling out what appears to be a pair of matching bracelets. “I’m in the support course, see. These will help you, I think. They’re anti-nausea bands!” She passes Uraraka the bands, and Uraraka takes them, staring at them with open curiosity. 

“Are those allowed?” Todoroki asks, tilting his head as Uraraka clasps them onto her wrists, just above the hem of her sleeves.

“Oh, yeah!” Hatsume turns to him, grinning. “Support course students can use what they want, you know. It’s how we get to show off all of our babies!” She reaches back into her bag, pulling out something that resembles the jetpack she’d used in the first round, and she holds it out to Todoroki.

“This isn’t really suited to you in particular, but it should be useful since you’ll be our rider, right?” She passes it to him, and he takes it from her.

“I didn’t realize we’d agreed on that,” Todoroki says, sliding the straps of the jetpack over his shoulders. “How does this work?”

“Just pull the handle on your left!” Hatsume answers, beaming. “With your quirk, maneuvering midair shouldn’t be too hard.” Todoroki nods, but Hatsume seems done paying attention to him, anyway. She turns back to the bag and tugs on something inside, pulling out what looks almost like armor. She offers it to Izuku, a pair of strange gloves that end at the first knuckle and extend to guard the bones of his forearms.

“These are just some neat little babies I whipped up the other day,” she says, grinning. “I’m sure you can figure out the basic idea, but these are also blast proof, which should help with that guy.” She jerks a thumb behind her, and sure enough, when Izuku looks over her shoulder, he can see Kacchan arguing with Sero and Kirishima. 

“T-Thanks,” Izuku replies, putting them on. They fit well, and they feel just the right amount of heavy. He looks down at them, flexing and unflexing his hands.  _ These would be nice as Ace _ , he thinks. The way they guard his forearms, he could probably get away with blocking weapons or quirked attacks with them. He’ll have to come up with some reason for Hatsume to give him a pair. 

“Listeners!” Present Mic’s voice calls out over the field. “Return to the staging area to get your headbands and record your official team placements. Selection time is up!”

Izuku trails behind his group as they cross the field, walking the short distance to where Midnight, Vlad King, Ectoplasm, and a few other teachers are taking down teams and handing out headbands. He probably should be paying attention to the conversation, but instead, he’s eyeing the competition. Kacchan, Kirishima, Sero, and Ashido have formed one group, but that isn’t surprising. The group formed by Shouji, Tsuyu, and Mineta isn’t, either, if only because Izuku watched that team form in the first place. It strikes Izuku as strange, though, to see Iida standing with Aoyama, Ojiro, and a kid he doesn’t recognize, with wild violet hair that stands over his head in a cloud of thin strands. It’s even stranger, considering the blank, impassive look on Iida’s face, and Izuku gets the uncomfortable sense that he’s missing something. 

Izuku follows behind Todoroki as they head over to their starting spot. Todoroki has the headband tied around his forehead already, his mismatched hair falling over it slightly. Izuku sees him tip his head back slightly, looking at Izuku. 

“Midoriya,” he says, quietly enough that Izuku doesn’t think anyone but him can hear. “After this, we need to talk.” Izuku blinks, scanning Todoroki’s face, but he doesn’t see anything that gives away what this means. There’s no anger, no disdain or disgust on his face, but then again, Izuku didn’t exactly expect Todoroki to be a bully, anyway. What Izuku’s more afraid of (confusion, fear, pity,  _ recognition _ ) isn’t there, either, and Izuku wonders why Todoroki is so good at hiding his emotions.

“Sure,” Izuku replies, giving Todoroki a small smile, and Todoroki blink at him slowly, before turning to walk forward again. Izuku doesn’t have much time to think about it, though, because soon they’re at their starting point, and he’s having to coordinate forming the horse with Hatsume and Uraraka. It’s not as difficult as he’d expected, really, and he ends up as the front member of the “horse” group, mostly because Hatsume and Uraraka are closer to each other in height, so it works out better with Todoroki sitting on their shoulders, anyway. 

“Start!” Present Mic’s shout is drowned out by the flurry of movement that’s set off by the sound, and Izuku is running forward with his team as the field explodes into motion. 

Izuku sees a lash of green vines whip out in front of them, twisting up at Todoroki in an instant, and Izuku reacts without thinking, reaching up and snatching the vine from midair, ripping at them. The vines he’d pulled at tug at his palm, but the gloves that Hatsume had given him protect him from the thorns, and he silently thanks her.

“Todoroki, careful!” Izuku hisses. “They’re after us,” he shouts, pointing as a girl--Shiozaki, he thinks--with hair that matches the vine he’d just deflected tilts her head forward, a wave of thick vines rushing forward at them. 

Todoroki waves a hand, a wave of ice cascading over the vines and freezing them in place. He nods, and Izuku grins, looking forward again. The group of class 1-B students seem to be distracted, fighting with Kacchan’s team, and Izuku turns his gaze to a team fast approaching them. 

Yaoyorozu sits on top of Kaminari and Jirou’s shoulders, with Tokoyami forming the front of the horse, Dark Shadow already reaching towards them. Izuku bites his lip as Todoroki waves, another wave of ice rising up to meet their opponents. Izuku watches as the ice beats Dark Shadow back, but something about Tokoyami’s quirk looks... odd. Izuku frowns, seeing Dark Shadow seem to twitch and grow in the shadow of Todoroki’s ice, bursting through it just as Izuku hears a shout from Uraraka. 

“Deku!” Uraraka shouts, and Izuku ducks just in time to dodge a piece of tape that flies past him. Izuku is forced to turn away from where Todoroki is trying to stave off Tokoyami and the rest of Team Yaoyorozu.

It’s years of practice that tell Izuku exactly how to dodge when Kacchan points a hand behind himself, angled down, then blasts the air between his teammates. Izuku hisses, raising his forearms to block Kacchan as he slams into him, a wild grin on Kacchan’s lips. 

“Hey there, Deku,” Kacchan laughs, and Izuku pushes him off, gritting his teeth as Kacchan blasts his way through the air to land back on his horse, without touching the ground once.  _ It’s not technically against the rules, _ Izuku thinks,  _ but that doesn’t mean I like it _ .

“What was that?” Todoroki asks from above him, whipping out a wall of ice as a metal rod, sparking with electricity, comes from the other team fighting them. 

“Kacchan is trying to rip it off of your head in midair,” Izuku hisses, watches Kacchan position himself to try again. “He’s coming!”

Todoroki nods, whipping around, hair raising up and moving as he quickly summons a wall of ice that blocks Kacchan’s path before the other boy can even take off. Izuku hears Kacchan curse loudly, and for some reason, the light of the explosions behind the ice barrier is what makes it click.

“Light,” Izuku breathes. “Todoroki, Tokoyami’s weakness is light. You need to use your fire; it’ll weaken his quirk long enough for us to get away from one of the other teams!” Izuku grins, shooting a glance up to Todoroki, only to see a look of grim determination on his classmate’s face.

“I don’t use my fire in combat,” he says, just as Izuku sees a thick sheet of something grey whip out from Yaoyorozu where she sits on top of her horse. Izuku feels the blood drain out of his face, and he opens his mouth to warn Todoroki, but he doesn’t have any time.

“Now, Kaminari!” Yaoyorozu shouts just as the insulation sheet wraps around her, Jirou, and Tokoyami. Izuku sees both Kaminari’s grin and the quick movement from Uraraka as she reaches up and slaps Todoroki’s back. The weight Izuku is helping to support disappears at the exact same time that he’s met with a shock that rattles his bones and makes his eyes clench shut involuntarily.

_ This isn’t his full power,  _ Izuku notes, dully, as he feels his teeth smash against each other as the shock passes through his body. He’s seen people get hit by Kaminari’s full strength shock; they drop to the ground. From the way his muscles burn as the electricity leaves him, Izuku doesn’t really want to experience Kaminari’s full strength blast. 

He blinks, trying to move his head to reassess their surroundings, but the muscles there don’t really listen to him. His head twitches back in a jerky motion, just in time to see Todoroki floating above them, looking disoriented. His face is set in a grim line, and he’s reaching for Izuku’s shoulder when Izuku hears it. He hadn’t realized his ears were ringing, but the sound of an explosion cuts right through it, and Izuku feels dread pool in his stomach. 

Kacchan, flying across the air, collides with Todoroki midair, his hand sparking slightly as it grips the headband on Todoroki’s forehead. Izuku can see the grimace spread over his teammate’s face, the opposite to Kacchan’s toothy grin, but Izuku can’t do anything but watch helplessly. He orders his arms to move, and they twitch uselessly at his side for just a moment before he can reach up, snagging Todoroki’s leg just as he starts to go flying. Izuku grits his teeth, pulling him back down, and Izuku can see a burst of red where Kacchan must have hit him when they collided. 

“Shit,” Todoroki swears, and Izuku almost laughs because  _ shit _ , this sucked. Izuku turns, the tiny sparks of electricity finally loosening their grip on him as he sees Team Yaoyorozu and Team Bakugou fighting, ignoring Izuku and his team now. He supposes that makes sense. 

“Time’s up!” A cheery voice calls, and Izuku freezes because,  _ what? _ They hadn’t been on the field long at all.  _ We must have lost time when we were electrocuted _ , Izuku thinks, his head spinning. He can feel Todoroki climbing down, and hear the way Uraraka growls in frustration, hears her kick at the ground as soon as she’s free from their formation. Izuku just stares, stares up at the leaderboard, even though he knows they can’t possibly be up there, not without  _ any _ points. His head is spinning.

“Alright, listeners!” Present Mic’s voice is bright, happy, and it gets on Izuku’s nerves. “As you can see, the four teams that will be advancing onto the next round are Team Yaoyorozu in first place, Team Bakugou in second, Team Shinsou in third, and Team Kendou in fourth!” Izuku blinks, long and slow.  _ Iida made it _ , he thinks _ , but he isn’t reacting _ . In fact, Iida is standing, still and calm, beside Aoyama and Ojiro, not moving an inch. Shinsou is the one one moving from that team, and he doesn’t look surprised or happy, really. There’s a small twist to his lips that could be a small smile, but it’s near impossible to tell. He sighs, dropping his shoulders, and Izuku can  _ see _ the way realization and awareness bleed back into Iida, Aoyama, and Ojiro, all three of them blinking in shock. Aoyama drops to his knees, and Ojiro presses a hand to his head. 

“I’m sorry, guys,” Izuku turns back to see Uraraka with a sad expression on her face. “I couldn’t be of much use.”

“It’s okay,” Izuku says, giving her a calm smile. “You did the best you could.”

“Yeah,” She says, looking at the ground. “I, um. I’m going to go call my parents,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “I’ll see you all later?”

“I’m going to go back to my workshop,” Hatsume says, not sounding upset in the slightest. “I have tons of new ideas! Thanks for the help!” She waves and bounces off, not looking back. Uraraka sniffles.

“It’s okay, Uraraka,” Izuku says, because someone needs to. “I’ll see you in the stands.” She nods, turning and wiping at her eyes. Izuku takes a deep breath, then starts to walk as well. Uraraka won’t have to call her parents. She won’t have to cry about this, not next time. Izuku already knows what he needs to do as he steps forward.

“Midoriya,” Todoroki says, and Izuku blinks, turning to look at him and seeing his brows furrowed. The faint red mark on his jaw is already starting to bruise, turning a light purple shade. 

“Yeah?” Izuku replies, stopping and tipping his head. 

“What are you...” Todoroki shakes his head, blinks. “Where are you going?”

Izuku smiles, shrugs. “I’m just going to use the restroom. I want to wash the sweat off of my face.” He watches Todoroki’s face, reminds himself that  _ Todoroki doesn’t remember. I’m the only one who knows _ , but he’s not entirely successful at convincing himself.

“Hm,” Todoroki grunts, turning his gaze back away from Izuku, and Izuku takes it as a dismissal. He pivots on his feet and starts walking back to the restroom, forcing a calm look onto his face. The walk to the bathroom feels longer than it really is, but it’s probably because Izuku keeps listening for the sounds of people following him, just in case. 

He makes it to the bathroom uninterrupted, though, and when he locks himself in the last stall, he doesn’t waste time. He rolls up his sleeves and pulls out his razor. He sits on the tile floor. He draws two matching lines on each forearm, two wide cuts that spill out dark blood in pulses that match his heartbeat. He drops the razor, leans his head back, and counts back from one hundred.

He makes it down to sixty-two before he hears the door to the bathroom open, just like last time, except whoever it is doesn’t hesitate. Izuku hears footsteps, and he starts to try and haul himself up, his feet slipping in the blood uselessly. His head is spinning already, and he’d cut deeper this time, his arms not responding to his commands at all. His shoes slide in the dark liquid just as the stall door is ripped open, and Izuku looks up to see Todoroki, a white icy mist coming from his mouth and a wild look on his face.

“Midoriya!” He shouts, flinging himself forward, and this time, Izuku throws himself back, moving away from Todoroki. He slides, only managing to corner himself in the back of the handicapped stall he’s killing himself in, but his motion seems to stop Todoroki short for a second.

“Why--What--” Todoroki shakes his head, raising a hand up to his forehead. “I don’t  _ understand _ ,” he hisses. “I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t  _ remember _ .” 

Izuku draws in a sharp breath, fighting against the grey in his vision. “Y-You don’t remember,” he says, his voice high and weak. “Remember  _ what _ ?” he manages to ask, his vision filling with grey. He can see Todoroki’s gaze snap back over to him. 

“I don’t--” Todoroki’s voice fades into blackness, and Izuku tries for the first time ever to resist the heavy grip of death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no specific content warnings this chapter! i hope that this was enjoyable! my brain will Not cooperate so idk if this is actually a shit chapter or if im just dissociating LMAO. 
> 
> oh!! im considering having a discord server for this fic, since there's been a lot of discussion in the comments n stuff!! let me know if you'd be interested, and if there's enough of an interest i'll have it ready by update tomorrow :D thank you all for supporting me, it means SO MUCH!


	18. sports festival, part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku make it through the obstacle course and lost in the cavalry battle. he's experiencing something... odd, with his quirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY GUYS!!! im very excited for this chapter :D ill get to all of the comments soon too, maybe tonight!! i've made a discord server for this fic too, which i'l post the link to in the end notes! i hope you enjoy!

Izuku opens his eyes, his chest heaving. He’s on the field, staring up at the stage, and for a terrible moment, he thinks it’s after the cavalry battle, after they  _ lost _ , but when he blinks up at the stage, it’s showing a countdown from ten minutes and the words “Short Break!” in bright lettering. Izuku sighs a breath of relief before what just happened hits him. 

Izuku whips his head around, looking over the field to find Todoroki already watching him, face impassive, frustratingly so. Izuku stares back at him, and he’s sure he looks stupid, wide eyed and odd, but Todoroki just narrows his eyes. Izuku makes a quick decision, then, turning and walking towards the bathroom with determination in each step. He doesn’t need to turn and check to know that Todoroki is following him. He can hear his footsteps, fast to catch up with Izuku, but Izuku doesn’t look back. 

The way Izuku sees it, there are a few possibilities here. The first and arguably the worst is that Todoroki remembers everything--that he remembers Izuku, sitting in a pool of his own blood, reaching up and telling him it’d be okay, that he remembers Izuku, dodging his attempts to help while Todoroki struggled to remember. Izuku doesn’t think it’s likely, though, because he’d seemed awfully confused, and also because Izuku doesn’t get why Todoroki would remember, of all people.  _ What was different? Was it my blood? The physical contact? The fact that I told him I’d be back? _

Izuku pushes open the door to the restroom, stopping in front of the sinks and turning to face the door as Todoroki steps inside. Todoroki meets his eyes immediately, then winces, bringing a hand up to rest on the side of his head, squeezing his eyes shut for just a second before he looks back at Izuku. The broken faucet drips quietly in the background as Izuku tilts his head to the side and furrows his brows slightly, painting the perfect picture of confused concern. 

“Todoroki? Are you alright?” Izuku watches, tries to see if Todoroki is showing signs of  _ knowing _ , of  _ remembering _ . Todoroki blinkys rapidly, then shakes his head, dropping his hand back to his side.

“I’m fine,” he says, his eyes tracing the bathroom, looking around. They’re alone, of course, and Izuku takes it as a good sign that Todoroki hasn’t looked at his arms or spent any time staring at the last stall in particular.

“Ten million points, huh?” Izuku says, giving Todoroki a small smile. “It’s gonna be tough for you in the next round.” Todoroki’s gaze snaps back to Izuku’s face. 

“Midoriya,” he says, face serious. “Have we... met somewhere before?”

Izuku tips his head to the side. “Before...?” He wonders, maybe, if all Todoroki has is a vague sense or a faint image. It’d make sense, given how he still seemed surprised when he barged in on Izuku killing himself for the second time. Izuku can only hope that Todoroki doesn’t remember details.

“Before UA,” Todoroki clarifies, clenching and unclenching his jaw. “I feel like... I feel like I’ve seen you before. Injured.”

Izuku blinks, frowns. “I was injured at USJ, remember? I don’t think I’ve been hurt around you other than that...” He watches Todoroki nod slightly, his face still deep in thought. 

“I... Nevermind,” Todoroki shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. I must have had an odd dream, or something.” He walks past Izuku, to the sink, and turns on the tap. 

Izuku watches him splash water onto his face, the water clinging to his skin, and Izuku steps over to the paper towel dispenser and pulls one out, turning back to offer it to Todoroki. Todoroki blinks at him in surprise, the water already turning to steam and evaporating off of his face. 

“Oh.” Izuku blinks, then giggles. “Sorry, I’d just assumed...”

Todoroki shakes his head. “It was... It was nice of you.” He stares at Izuku once more, and this time, Izuku sees him look up and down Izuku’s body, like he’s scanning for injuries. The scrutiny feels odd, uncomfortable, and Izuku shifts his weight between his feet. 

“I’m going to go back out to the field,” Izuku says, stepping towards the door and hoping Todoroki doesn’t pick up on the fact that Izuku hasn’t actually done anything in the bathroom other than talk to him. Todoroki doesn’t reply as Izuku pushes the door, walking out onto the field just in time for Present Mic to start announcing the terms of the cavalry team selection. 

Izuku weighs his options as he crosses the field, timing his breaths to his steps, one inhale for every three steps, one exhale for the next three. It keeps his mind steady, even with the anxiety that’s bubbling up in him at the thought of facing the cavalry battle again, knowing that he loses if he teams up with Todoroki and Uraraka and Hatsume.

He also doesn’t want to push it, doesn’t want Todoroki to remember more if repeating the events of the last round somehow triggers him to recall more. It’s going to be difficult, trying to figure out why Todoroki remembers  _ anything _ without making the other boy suspicious, but it’s really a problem for after the sports festival, when Izuku isn’t trying to win. He thinks back to his first attempt and winces. 

_ I can’t repeat that _ , he thinks,  _ so I need a different team. But who else would team up with me? Of my friends, I already know Iida and Tsuyu are with other teams _ . Izuku scans the field, looks over the groups of students. Most of them are familiar to him by now, but his gaze catches on the purple haired kid, the one who’d... done something, to Iida. Izuku wonders, idly, if it’s a mind control quirk or if he’s reading into it too much. 

He remembers his name, from the last round, too. When Present Mic tells them to start picking their teams, Shinsou moves over to the side, talking to Ojiro with his back to Izuku. Izuku can see the exact second that Ojiro’s eyes go blank, all of the color draining from his irises and his face falling slack, calm and empty. Izuku watches Shinsou sigh, reaching up to rub his hand on the short fuzzy hair at the nape of his neck. Izuku approaches, walking up to him quickly.

“Shinsou,” Izuku says, and Shinsou freezes, turning slowly to look at Izuku. His eyes are widened slightly, a lazy frown on his face. “Do you want to team up?”

Shinsou blinks, opens his mouth, but Izuku presses on. “I already know about your quirk,” Izuku says. “I think it’s incredibly well suited to the cavalry battle, and I want to work together.” Izuku squeezes his hands into fists where they rest by his sides, because this is the test. If Shinsou brainwashes him, Izuku might very well lose his chance to make an impact during the second round, turned into a mindless puppet instead. Izuku doesn't know his activation condition, but it could be something as simple as eye contact.

“You know about my quirk, and you want to team up with me anyway?” Shinsou asks, eyes narrowing. Izuku can feel that he’s waiting to see if Izuku trusts him, if Izuku will take that kind of a risk.

“I do,” Izuku says, voice firm. “I think it’s an amazing quirk,” he adds, because he knows it's what Shinsou needs to hear, even though it hurts somewhere in Izuku’s heart to be manipulative like this. Izuku may have been raised quirkless, but that doesn’t mean he’s unaware of what those with psychological manipulation quirks face. The way they’d be told they were dirty, broken, tainted,  _ evil. _ Izuku had spent long nights on forums, talking to other outcasts like him, and he’d spoken once with a girl whose quirk let her make other people like her more, if she touched them. She’d been afraid, always, that nobody really liked her, that it was all her quirk, and from what she’d said, the other people in her life were afraid of that, too. She wasn’t given a chance to make friends, to talk to people, banned from touching others at school and constantly questioned at home. Izuku doesn’t know the details of Shinsou’s quirk or his life, but he can guess.

Shinsou blinks, tilting his head to the side slightly. “What’s in it for me?” He asks, looking Izuku over. “You’re quirkless, aren’t you.” It’s not a question; it’s an insult, and Izuku knows it. He doesn’t let it rankle him. There are far meaner things to say than the simple truth.

“I am,” he replies, shrugging. “And I know all of class 1-A in and out. Not only that, but I’m smart.” 

Shinsou snorts. “Yeah, so am I.” He rolls his eyes as he says it.

“Two heads are better than one,” Izuku says, easily. “Sure, you could win just by using your quirk. But wouldn’t using your quirk to control your teammates as well just make your reputation worse?” He watches as Shinsou scowls, lips tugging down and nose twitching slightly.

“What do you think you know about my reputation?” He says, voice low and ugly. “I don’t need your help.”

“You don’t,” Izuku agrees, making a big show of folding his arms over his chest slowly, looking at Shinsou and smiling. “But won’t it be better this way?”

Shinsou stares at him for a long moment before answering. “Fine. But if you get in my way, I’ll brainwash you.” He glances at Ojiro, who’s standing there blankly, not moving except to breathe, staring blankly at the air in front of them. 

“Is that what your quirk does?” Izuku watches the way Ojiro doesn’t move. “Brainwashing?”

“I thought you said you knew what it did already,” Shinsou grumbles, narrowing his eyes at Izuku.

“I saw you put some sort of control effect over Ojiro, but I don’t know the details,” Izuku answers, stepping forward to wave a hand in front of Ojiro’s face. “Can he hear us?”

Shinsou shrugs. “Probably. How much they remember afterwards really depends on the person. Physical impact or pain can break them out of it, though, so we’ll need to be cautious during the battle.” He looks down, picking at his nails. “I also want a fourth member to my team, so if you have any suggestions, I can go and brainwash them.”

Izuku tips his head. Last time, it had been Iida and Aoyama, but... “Why don’t you just ask them to join up with you?” Shinsou raises an eyebrow.

“Why don’t I ask the hero course students to team up with a general studies kid that they don’t know with a villain’s quirk,” he says, deadpan. “Why don’t I do that. Wow, I’ve never considered the notion. I’m sure it would turn out great.” 

Izuku shrugs. “Ojiro would probably work with you, if I asked him to. He’s a good guy.” He glances over the field, spotting Aoyama standing alone, shoulder thrown back. “I’ve got an idea,” he says, turning away from Shinsou to wave at Aoyama.

“What are you doing?” Shinsou asks from behind him. “Are they really going to team up with you, even though you’re... you know?” Izuku can’t see his face, but the tone of disdain sounds almost put on. Izuku shrugs, watching as Aoyama walks over to them, a smile on his face.

“They’re all really nice, you know,” Izuku replies, glancing back at Shinsou. “I don’t think any of them have any idea of how the quirkless are normally treated. They just seemed surprised.” Shinsou blinks, slowly, then looks away. 

“And you want this guy to team up with us?” He eyes Aoyama over as he approaches, one hand on his hip and a twinkle in his eye.

“Hello, Midoriya,” Aoyama says, his gaze sliding off of Shinsou and onto Izuku. “What do you need from  _ moi _ ?” He quirks a brow up.

“Do you want to work with me and Shinsou?” Izuku asks, smiling. “I noticed you didn’t have a team quite yet.”

“Mm, yes, that would be agreeable!” Aoyama says, a smile splitting his face. “I was wondering when somebody would ask me to join them, considering the impressive abilities I possess!” He places a hand on his chest, tipping his head and giving Izuk a look that Izuku thinks is supposed to be some kind of.... Actually, Izuku has no idea. Aoyama is just looking at him like that, and Izuku is starting to regret this decision.

“Aren’t you the glittery dude?” Shinsou asks, raising an eyebrow, and Aoyama turns to him, nodding. 

“Oh, yes, that’s--” his voice cuts off, and Izuku watches his eyes go blank, his hands dropping to his sides like Ojiro’s. Izuku glances over at Shinsou in time to see him sigh, rolling his eyes.

“Did you have to pick the most annoying person here?” Shinsou asks flatly, staring at Izuku. Izuku blinks. He’d honestly just picked Aoyama because he’d seen him on Shinsou’s team last time, but it’s not like he can outright  _ say _ that. 

Izuku settles for shrugging his shoulders. “I just thought we could use someone with a ranged attack on our team,” he replies. “Does your quirk activate when someone responds to a question you ask them?”

“Doesn’t have to be a question,” Shinsou replies, his gaze slipping to look over Izuku’s shoulder, in the direction of the stage. “They just have to respond to me.” Izuku turns, seeing the teachers line up along the stage like they’d been before.

“Let’s go get our headbands,” Izuku says, and Shinsou nods. 

“Follow me,” he commands, looking at Aoyama and Ojiro, who follow behind him as he starts walking to the stage. Izuku follows, and Present Mic’s announcement telling them to get their headbands starts just as they reach Midnight. She tips her head at them when they approach, looking surprised.

“Midoriya, Shinsou. I didn’t know you two were friends,” she says, reaching into a bag of headbands and searching through it. 

“We’re not,” Shinsou replies, his eyes pointed at the ground. Izuku watches him.

“Not yet, anyway,” Izuku says, just as Midnight pauses, tipping her head.

“Are Aoyama and Ojiro...” She looks at them, taking in their state. “Are they on your team as well?”

Izuku nods. “Yeah! Shinsou’s the rider, by the way.” Midnight nods, passing over a headband with 390 written on it before reaching behind herself and pulling a tablet off the stage. She unlocks it and taps on the screen for a minute before turning it back off and looking up at them. 

“You’re all set, then!” Midnight gives them a smile. “You’ll be in the fourth starting spot on the left side. Good luck!” 

Izuku nods, opening his mouth to thank her, but Shinsou brushes past him, already walking toward their start spot. Izuku blinks, hurrying after Shinsou and their two brainwashed teammates. 

“Do you have a plan in mind?” Izuku asks, walking quickly so he draws even with Shinsou.

“I’m going to wait until near the end of the time and then brainwash one of the top four teams,” Shinsou says, not looking at Izuku. “It’s the simplest way.” He steps onto their assigned spot and holds a hand out.

Izuku blinks, passing him the headband. “Makes sense. Do you have a limit to how many people you can brainwash at a time?” Shinsou glances at him from the sides of his eyes as he ties the headbands around his forehead. 

“It won’t come up,” Shinsou answers, giving his head a shake, his hair fanning out over the headband. 

“You should release Aoyama and Ojiro,” Izuku says. “It’s not like they can leave the team now, anyway.”

Shinsou snorts. “They can choose not to cooperate. I’m not releasing them.” He sighs, turning toward them. “I'm putting them in the back, you can be the front of the horse.”

Izuku bites his lip. “Okay. They won’t be very happy with you afterwards, though.”

“I’m not here to make friends,” Shinsou says, glaring at Izuku. “I’m here to become a pro hero, not to be nice to stuck up hero course kids who have had life handed to them on a silver platter.” 

Izuku blinks. “Heroes need to have allies, though. They need to be able to work with others.” He tips his head slightly at Shinsou. “They want to win too, you know. It’s in their best interest to work with you.”

Shinsou shakes his head. “Fine, but don’t act surprised when they hate me anyway,” he says, his voice a low growl, and Izuku sees the color bleed back into Aoyama’s and Ojiro’s eyes. Aoyama stumbles, like before, and Izuku knows to reach out a hand, steadying him by his shoulder. Aoyama looks up at him, blinking, but it’s Ojiro who speaks first.

“What...” he shakes his head, brows furrowed. “What did you do to me?” He looks up at Shinsou, and Izuku sees a mixture of fear and confusion on his face. 

“I brainwashed you,” Shinsou says, shrugging. He looks over to Izuku, a smug look on his face.

“Sorry, Ojiro, Aoyama!” Izuku says, bowing a little to Ojiro. Aoyama has a hand on his shoulder, just standing there quietly. “Shinsou was worried nobody would want to team up with him, so he got nervous and used his quirk. I told him you two would want to win of your own power, though, so he let you go!” Izuku looks up, flashing his best pacifying smile at Ojiro, who blinks. Shinsou growls from next to him.

“That’s not what  _ happened _ , Midoriya,” he hisses, and Izuku just shrugs. 

“Isn’t it?” Izuku asks, looking to Aoyama, who blinks, then smiles.

“I think we’ll do wonderfully,” Aoyama says, winking at Izuku. “Although, I do prefer to be asked politely rather than forced.”

Ojiro nods. “Yeah...” He glances off to the side. “Same here, but I’ll work with what I’ve got, I guess.” 

“Well, let’s get set up, then!” Izuku smiles. “I think Aoyama should be the front of the horse, since his quirk is better suited to it than...” Izuku swallows, “than my abilities are.”

Aoyama nods, and the four of them work to form the horse, just in time for Present Mic to call for the final countdown. Shinsou is settling onto Izuku and Ojiro’s shoulders just as the cavalry battle officially starts. 

It’s different than last time, because they don’t even move immediately. Izuku glances up to see Shinsou scanning the field, his face serious and focused. The other teams seem to be directing most of their attention to Team Todoroki, like last time, and it’s strange for Izuku to see Todoroki teamed up with Iida, Yaoyorozu, and Kaminari.  _ It’s a good match-up _ , he thinks as he watches them evade an attack from Team Bakugou, Todoroki’s mismatched hair just touching the edge of an explosion. Izuku wonders if Todoroki’s used to the smell of singed hair; he must be, considering his and his father’s quirks. 

“We’re going to stay back until closer to the end,” Shinsou says from up above, glancing down at them. “My quirk is more likely to work if they don’t know what to expect.” Izuku remembers that Aoyama and Ojiro had been brainwashed still when Shinsou and Izuku had talked strategy. 

“We’re just going to rely on your quirk?” Ojiro asks, sounding frustrated. “Isn’t that... I don’t know, cruel?”

“How so?” Shinsou asks, a mean tone to his voice. “Did it hurt when I used it on you?” 

“No, but--” Shinsou cuts Ojiro off before he can finish.

“Then I don’t see how it’s any worse than the kid with anger management issues blowing up in ten-million’s face,” Shinsou says, shrugging his shoulders. “Or is it because it’s a villain’s quirk? Because it isn’t flashy and attractive?”

Ojiro sighs. “Dude, I have a mutant quirk, I get what it’s like, but you still could have  _ asked _ us to be on your team.” Izuku casts a glance at him, sees the uneasy set to his shoulders and the frown on his face.

“Would you have said yes?” Shinsou asks, quietly. “And you know as well as I do that psychological quirks get it worse than the kind you have.”

“G-Guys,” Izuku interrupts, tilting his head forward. “Incoming, three o’clock.” Shouji, his hands wrapped around what must be Mineta and Tsuyu on his back, charges at them, approaching from the side of the group that Izuku’s on. He’s moving quickly, the weight of his teammates not seeming to hinder him in the slightest. 

“Midoriya, you said you know 1-A well, right?” Shinsou asks, gritting his teeth. “Tell me what to say to get the big guy to respond.”

Izuku blinks. “Don’t bother trying to insult his appearance,” he says, remembering a conversation Shouji had had with Tsuyu and Tokoyami. “He’s used to that. Just ask a question, he won’t be too hard to get an answer out of.” Shinsou nods, and they doge to the side, stepping out of the way of Shouji’s charge.

“Watch where you’re going!” Shinsou snaps, and Izuku notes the bright anger in his voice. He knows it must be faked, but it seems to work on Shouji.

“It’s a competition,” he says, before freezing in place, his eyes going blank. Shinsou sighs from above Izuku. Izuku glances up at him. 

“There are two inside of his arms,” Izuku whispers, praying it’s loud enough for Shinsou to hear. “Tsuyu is smart, so she might be hard to get, but if you say something inappropriate, Mineta will reply.”

“Something...?” Shinsou blinks, and he leans back, barely dodging out of the way of a long, pink tongue. Izuku bites his lip, moving with his team as they back up, turning so that their front is facing the immobile Shouji. 

“That’s nasty,” Shinsou says, and Izuku sees Tsuyu poke her face out from between Shouji’s arms. “Isn’t it kind of gross licking people all the time?” Tsuyu retracts her tongue, frowning.

“I don’t--” she starts to say, her face growing blank halfway through. Izuku sees that she’s wearing their headband, and he knows that Shinsou sees it too, because Shinsou tips his head slightly to the side. 

“Give me your headband,” he orders, and Tsuyu reaches up, taking her headband off. A lock of her long, dark hair falls over her face as she stretches up to hand it to Shinsou, who takes it easily. Izuku hears a squeal from inside of Shouji.

“Mineta won’t be a threat,” Ojiro says. “Well. I don’t think he will be, anyway.” Izuku nods, agreeing, and Aoyama sighs as they move away from the frozen, blank Shouji.

“I wish we were doing something with a little more sparkle,” Aoyama sighs, flipping his hair. “This is just so... plain.” He says it like it’s an insult, a terrible burden to be. 

Izuku huffs a small laugh. “You’ll get a chance to be dramatic in the third round, Aoyama.” 

“Agreed,” Ojiro says. “Y’know, I guess I have to thank you, Midoriya. I wouldn’t have wanted to win as a puppet.”

“I-I know,” Izuku replies, glancing up at Shinsou, who’s pointedly looking out over the field. Izuku can’t help but think that it’s almost cruel of Ojiro, to keep hammering on it.  _ Shinsou hasn’t apologized, though, so I suppose I can’t blame Ojiro for being upset _ .

“And now we wait,” Aoyama says, sighing. “At least this gives me a chance to rest after the obstacle course.”

“Wasn’t finishing forty-second enough of a rest as is?” Shinsou quips, and Izuku winces.

“Mm, no, that was just my warm up,” Aoyama replies back easily, seemingly unfazed. Izuku blinks, but doesn’t say anything. 

“Hey, what’s our time at?” Ojiro asks. “I can’t see from my angle.” Izuku glances to his side, at the large clock.

“We’ve got three minutes left,” he replies, biting at his lower lip. It feels  _ wrong _ , to win this way, but Izuku knows he doesn’t have many chances lest, not if he wants to be able to reset in the third round. If he’s learned anything from being on the streets, it’s that sometimes to do good, you have to fight dirty. Izuku wonders if Shinsou feels this way about his quirk, all the time. If every victory feels like cheating. Izuku supposes his own quirk is cheating, in its own way. He’s the only one here who gets to try again. 

“Let’s aim for them,” Shinsou says, nodding his head at Team Tetsutetsu where they’re running away from a clash between Team Bakugou and Team Todoroki. Shiozaki’s vines are making a barrier between them and the explosions Kacchan is unleashing, and Izuku nods. 

They move forward, headed straight for the other team. They’re preoccupied, but not completely oblivious, and Izuku sees the guy in front with the big teeth notice them first, shouting something up to his teammates that IZuku can’t quite make out of the loud boom of an explosion across the field. 

“Hey, green hair!” Shinsou shouts, “Nice tits!” Izuku blinks, surprised, and Shiozaki’s head whips around to look at him, a red flush and a furious expression rising on her face.

“You--” Her eyes drain of color, and Izuku sees Shinsou smirk. 

“Figured I’d give that ‘something inappropriate’ a shot,” he says, glancing down at Izuku. “Give me your headbands and hold your team in place,” he shouts back at Shiozaki, whose face remains blank and impassive as her vines stretch up to rip the headbands off of Tetsutstsu’s forehead and neck, whipping them towards Shinsou as another wave of vines wrap around her teammates, securing them to the ground.

“What the hell, Shiozaki?!” Tetsutetsu exclaiming, his hand flailing after the vines with his headbands.

“Sorry, I guess your girlfriend likes  _ me _ better,” Shinsou says, snatching the headbands out from the vines, and securing them on his head with a vicious grin. 

“She’s not my--” Tetsutetsu’s face goes slack, and Izuku blinks.

“You’re really good at that,” Izuku whispers, and Shinsou snorts.

“Being an asshole? It’s really easy,” he doesn’t look down, though his eyes still pinned on the rest of Team Tetsutetsu. Izuku can’t see the guy with spiky black hair under the vines, but big-teeth is struggling to get free, grumbling and cursing under his breath.

“What the hell did you do to them?” He asks, looking up at Shinsou, and Shinsou shrugs, a playful grin on his face. 

“Why don’t you ask nicely and maybe I’ll tell you?” Shinsou feigns a yawn, stretching his hands above his head. “Quickly, though, you’re just about out of time.”

“You--” He doesn’t even get the entire word out before his face goes blank, his hands dropping down and letting the vines pin them to his sides. 

“Too easy,” Shinsou says, dropping the fake grin. “How much time--”

“Time’s up listeners!” Present Mic’s voice interrupts him, a cheery bright sound that reminds Izuku of last round, when they’d been dazed and defeated. Now, Izuku is injured, and they’d barely had to move, hadn’t had to struggle or run or fight. It was  _ easy _ , really.  _ The hardest part was convincing Shinsou to cooperate _ , Izuku thinks with a grin.  _ We’re going to the next round! _

\--

When the noonday break is called, Izuku finds himself walking toward the bathroom, just out of habit. He catches himself in front of a gate that leads out of the arena, about one hundred feet from the hallway that leads to the bathroom he’s killed himself in twice now. He’s a little dazed, he notes absently. He stops walking, turning toward the gate that faces the outside, with trees bordering the path on the other side, leaves green and broad. Izuku stares out at it, watching the gentle wind brush through the trees, sending dappled shadows over the ground. 

“Midoriya,” Todoroki’s voice startles Izuku, and Izuku jumps, flinching back on reflex. He turns to see Todoroki, standing there with his hands in his pockets, his face impassive.

“T-Todoroki,” Izuku says, blinking and forcing his heart to settle back down. He takes a slow breath. 

“Looks like we’re both moving on to the third round,” Todoroki says, walking past Izuku, into the shadow of the gate. “I wanted to talk to you, before the tournament.”

“O-Oh?” Izuku asks, biting at his lip. He watches Todoroki walk another few steps, his back to Izuku when he speaks again. 

“There’s something going on with you,” he says, voice contemplative. “I don’t know what it is, but there’s something unusual. You’re hiding something big, Midoriya.”

“I-I’m not-- there’s not anything l-like--” Izuku cuts himself off when Todoroki turns back to face him, his blue and grey eyes facing him. 

“I know that something happened, between the first and second rounds, Midoriya.” Todoroki looks up and down Izuku’s form. “Not only that, but you’ve attracted special attention from Aizawa-sensei.”

“T-That’s just because I’m quirkless...” Izuku says, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. “Look, T-Todoroki, I really don’t have anything like what you’re saying going on with me.”

Todoroki tilts his head slightly to the side, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t believe you,” he answers. “You know things you shouldn’t. And you act differently, sometimes. Like you have some hidden insight.” He blinks, slow and calm. “I’m going to beat you anyway, though. I have no choice.”

Izuku blinks, swallowing around the lump rising in his throat. “Y-You don’t?” Todoroki looks down, at the shadowed ground.

“Have you ever heard of quirk marriages?” he asks, voice quietly. “You know who my father is, of course.”

Izuku blinks. “E-Endeavor, right?” He’d heard about it, of course.

“Yes,” Todoroki answers, looking off to the side. The position hides his burned side from Izuku, and Izuku gets a horrible feeling that he knows where this is going. 

“My mother’s family was easy to convince. When the number two hero wants your daughter’s hand in marriage, it’s simpler to just agree, after all.” Todoroki tips his head to the side, a flash of anger crossing his face. “He only wanted her for her quirk. With it, he created  _ me _ . I’m nothing but a tool, Midoriya, and I  _ hate _ it.” Izuku swallows.

“Todoroki...” He breathes, and Todoroki’s head snaps to stare into his eyes.

“As I remember it, my mother was always crying. She’d grown to hate this left side of mine, you see...” Todoroki raises one hand, his fingers brushing against the scar over his eyes. “Or at least that’s what she told me when she poured boiling water onto my face.” Izuku gasps, clasping a hand over his mouth. Todoroki’s face is twisted, full of pain and fear and anger.

“I’m going to rise to the top, without using my father’s quirk,” Todoroki says, dropping his hand. “You understand, though, how angry it would make him if I lost to you. When you’re quirkless.” Todoroki clenches his fists into tight balls by his sides, and Izuku can see the muscles in his forearms tensing. “So, no matter what you’ve got going on, no matter what your secret is... I’m going to win. And I’m going to do it with only my right side.” Todoroki steps toward him, and Izuku can feel the cold radiating off of him, like an opened freezer door or a blast from a winter storm. Todoroki turns, walking back out, towards where the mess hall for the arena is, but Izuku steps forward.

“I was given a second chance,” Izuku says, and the other boy pauses, glancing back over his shoulder. “I... I wouldn’t be here, but I got lucky. I got to try again. I keep  _ getting _ second chances,” Izuku looks down at his hands, sees them starting to shake. “People keep doing things for me, forgiving me for my mistakes. People who I’d thought... who I’d thought hated me, they’re giving me a chance to be friends again. Things that  _ should _ end it, for me, that should mean I have to give up, they  _ don’t _ . It sound stupid, compared to what you’ve been through, but...” Izuku looks up, squeezing his hands into fists.

“I’m not going to waste all of the extra chances I’ve been getting. I’m not going to throw away how lucky I am by losing. So, that’s my declaration to you,” Izuku swallows, grinning wide. “I’m going to beat you. If not now,” Izuku takes a step forward, determination filling him. “Then next time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: canonical child abuse (todoroki
> 
> I HOPE U ENJOYED!!!! gahhh ive been dying to write this stuff with todoroki and with shinsou!! 
> 
> thank you for all of your comments!!! they feed my soul and allow me to write :3
> 
> here's the link to the discord!!! https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt


	19. sports festival, part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku moves on to round three, taking third place in the cavalry battle with the help of shinsou !

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI!!! there may not be an update tomorrow, but im going to try my best. we're moving my younger brother into his dorm for the first time, and it's a 4.5 hour drive each way. i don't think im the one driving, but im not very fast at writing on my phone anyway so idk if it'll get done in time. im gonna try my best to get a chapter out though!

After eating, Izuku leaves the mess hall alone, stepping outside into the spring air. It’s getting warmer as the day moves on, and now that Izuku’s stomach is full of good food and he’s not in the middle of the competition, it’s really pleasant. Izuku could take a nap out here, if he was the napping type, so he’s not surprised to see Aizawa there, leaning against the side of the building with his head tipped back, looking up at the trees. 

“S-Sensei,” Izuku says, lifting a hand in a small wave when Aizawa tips his head to the side, looking at him.

“Midoriya,” Aizawa straightens up, unfolding his arms where they’d been crossed over his chest and sliding his hands into his pockets instead as he straightens up. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

Izuku blinks. “Y-You have?” He shifts his feet, the sensation of the sandy path scraping under his feet soothing. It reminds him of being on patrol. 

Aizawa nods. “You’ve done well to make it this far. The tournament is going to be more difficult for you, though.” He looks down at Izuku. “Don’t be afraid to fight dirty. You’re working at an inherent disadvantage against most of your peers. Have you seen the tournament bracket?”

Izuku shakes his head. “I was about to go look,” he answers.

“You’re up against Sero first,” Aizawa says. “I don't want any of class 1-A to lose because you were too busy being nice to your classmates.” He narrows his eyes slightly at Izuku. “Something tells me you’re one of the most likely to do something like that.”

Izuku feels his face flush. “I-I wouldn’t lose on  _ purpose _ ,” he responds, biting at his lower lip. 

“No, you wouldn’t.” Aizawa sighs. “But you’d risk it, if it meant helping your friends. What would you have done in the second round if Ojiro and Aoyama had refused to work with Shinsou?” Aizawa raises a hand just as Izuku opens his mouth to ask how he knew. “Ojiro spoke with me about it afterward.” Izuku blinks, pausing to take a breath before he answers, because he can’t exactly tell Aizawa,  _ well, I would have gone to the bathroom and slit my wrists _ .

“They wouldn’t have,” Izuku says, voice firm. “And they didn’t.”

“It was a gamble,” Aizawa replies. “One you took to help your classmates, at a potential detriment to yourself.”

Izuku shakes his head. “It’s not a gamble if I knew what was going to happen,” he answers. “I know Aoyama and Ojiro better than that.” He watches Aizawa arch an eyebrow at him.

“You’re a strange one, Midoriya.” Aizawa sighs. “Go, get ready for your matches. Just keep what I said in mind.” He waves a hand, shooing Izuku away. 

“I will!” Izuku chirps in response, waving at Aizawa as he walks back down the path. 

\--

Izuku stands in the tunnel, looking out on the field. His hands are sweating, and he wipes his palms on the fabric of his sports uniform, taking a deep, steadying breath. The tunnel is dark, despite the bright light of the sun illuminating the field ahead. Izuku can see the arena, the square marked off with white tape that must be where his match against Sero will take place.  _ It’s unfortunate that I’m going first _ , Izuku thinks.  _ But it means I have less time to make myself nervous, at least _ .

“Young Midoriya,” Izuku blinks, turning to see All Might, in his skeletal form. Izuku swallows, tipping his head to the side.  _ I haven’t seen him like this, not since that day on the roof. _

“All Might...” Izuku swallows, watches as All Might chuckles, looking off to the side.

“So it was you, on the roof that day. I’d thought I was remembering right, but...” All Might rubs a hand on the back of his neck, grimacing. “I wanted to apologize to you, and to offer some words of encouragement.”

“A-Apologize...?” Izuku blinks, unsure. He’s mostly gotten past his resentment of All Might that he’d held for a few weeks after the incident, but he still... He hasn’t thought of the number one hero as the type to remember him, not when he hadn’t brought up that fateful day even once, not when he hadn’t seemed to notice Izuku in class, not really.

All Might nods. “It seems I was wrong about you. I’m sorry for telling you that you couldn’t be a hero. It was wrong of me to crush your dream like that.” He tips his head down, in a slight bow. “I came to wish you luck. I... I dismissed you, based on your quirkless status. I didn’t take the time to see what other traits you had, and I feel it cost us both.” He looks up at Izuku, clenching a fist. “Prove me wrong, young Midoriya. I know you can.”

Izuku feels tears, hot and wet building up in his eyes. “Y-You really mean it?” He looks at All Might, watches the man smile slightly, his teeth large and bright on his emaciated face.

“I do. Now, get out there and do your best. Go beyond!” All Might raises his right fist, in his signature move, and Izuku mirrors him, grinning.

“Plus Ultra!” Izuku cheers, quietly but brightly. He feels a spark of something, bright and happy and  _ proud _ bubble in his chest as he turns, walking out onto the field. Sero emerges from the other side, a bright grin on his face as they step into the ring. 

“Hey Midoriya,” Sero says, putting one hand on his hip as they face each other. “I’m not gonna go easy on you, just sayin’.”

Izuku grins back. “I wouldn’t expect you to,” he replies, and Sero nods, grinning still. 

“The first match!” Present Mic's voice booms over the field. “We have Izuku Midoriya, the quirkless hero course student who participated in that surprise steal of third place in the cavalry battle, versus Hanta Sero, from the same class in the hero course! His tape dispensing quirk proved quite useful in landing him and the rest of his team second place in the last round.”

“The rules are simple! You win by either immobilizing your opponent, knocking them out of the ring, or getting them to say ‘I give up’! We have Recovery Girl and a medical team on standby, so go all out. Fighting dirty is also perfectly fine! This isn’t a battle of ethics!” Present Mic laughs, and Izuku remembers Aizawa’s advice from earlier. “Killing is, of course, not allowed! If it gets to that point, Cementoss will step in. Ready?” Izuku takes a deep breath, raising his fists in a fighting stance.

“Start!” Present Mic cries out, and Izuku sees Sero pull his elbows up, aiming his tape dispensers at Izuku’s face. Izuku ducks, twisting out of the way as two long strips of clear tape shoot past him, glistening in the sunlight. They fly past the ring, their cut ends fluttering when they land. 

“Sorry, Midoriya,” Sero says, shrugging as he walks toward him. “It’s kind of unfair to you, huh? One on one like this,” he shoots out another strip of tape, and Izuku dodges again, glancing down to check his position. He’s still well within bounds. 

“Really?” Izuku says, sliding back into a fighting stance and darting forward, towards Sero. “I don’t think it’s unfair at all.” He slides under a shot of tape aimed a little too high and throws a punch, quick and sharp, to Sero’s stomach. Izuku hears Sero gasp, his face twisting into a grimace as Izuku grabs the front of his uniform with his other hand and pulls Sero into his knee as he raises it up to slam into Sero’s ribs. Izuku clenching his teeth in sympathy as he feels the hard impact into his classmate’s chest, hearing Sero’s breath rush out of him. Izuku slides back just as Sero shoots out a strand of tape at him, dodging it.

“Damn, Midoriya,” Sero wheezes, clutching his stomach with one hand. “You’re pretty good!” He raises both elbows, shooting a volley of tape out that Izuku has to roll on the ground to dodge, the sandy ground scuffing against his shoulder as he somersaults out of the way. Izuku curses internally as he feels a piece of tape, sticky and tight, wrap around his bicep as he gets to his feet.

“Gotcha,” Sero says, breaking the tape off of his elbow dispenser and gripping it with his hands, tugging on it and yanking Izuku to the side. Izuku digs his heels into the ground, his eyes on the white barrier of the ring as he’s dragged toward the boundary.

“Not... yet...” he growls as he reaches forward, grabbing the tape between him and Sero and dragging himself forward, like he’s climbing a rope. The tape is thicker than he’d thought, and it makes it easier for him to get a grip, hauling himself forward towards Sero.

Sero grimaces, dropping the tape he’s holding and letting it go slack. Izuku nearly falls from the lack of tension, but he catches himself in time, running at Sero. Sero flinches back, but Izuku sweeps his legs with one of his, and Sero goes tumbling to the ground. Just before his back hits the ground, Izuku sees him raise his elbow, and a piece of tape shoots out, smacking into Izuku’s chest and dragging him down on top of him.

Izuku bites down on the tip of his tongue when he falls, accidentally filling his mouth with the taste of iron. He lands on top of Sero, getting an elbow to the face and a knee to the gut.  _ At least I’m not underneath him _ , he thinks, struggling to get somewhat upright so that he can attempt to hold Sero in some kind of... headlock, or something. Izuku fumbles, struggling as Sero writhes underneath him. Izuku hisses in frustration as Sero shoves a hand in his face, pushing him off of him. 

Izuku flips over, hopping into a crouch just as Sero sits up and shoots a piece of tape that wraps itself around Izuku’s forearm, tugging him forward as Sero readies a punch.. Izuku jerks himself to the side, and Sero’s punch flies right over his shoulder. Izuku, suddenly, remembers something from on the streets, and he leans forward without thinking, sinking his teeth into the meat of Sero’s forearm.

“Hey!” Sero shouts, shaking his arm, but Izuku bites down harder, trying to elbow Sero in the ribs without looking. “What the hell, man?” Sero gives his arm a firm shake, dislodging Izuku. Izuku backs away, hopping to his feet and getting back into a fighting stance just in time for Sero to stand up, shaking his arm out and grimacing. Izuku can taste blood in his mouth, but he’s not sure if it’s from when he’d bit his own tongue earlier or if it’s Sero’s. 

“Did you really  _ bite _ me?!” Sero asks incredulously, looking down at his arm. Izuku sees the red, bleeding ring he’d left, but he doesn’t hesitate, barrelling forward to shove Sero back. Sero flails, backing up, cursing and trying to dig his feet into the ground as Izuku gives him a firm shove, pushing him over the edge of the ring with a groan. 

“Sero is out of bounds!” Present Mic announces as Sero lands on the ground, his butt on the dirt just outside the white tape. He’s caught himself on his hands, and he’s looking up at Izuku with a stunned look on his face. “Midoriya moves on to the second round!”

Izuku blinks, then holds out a hand to Sero. “Sorry about that...” he says, giving Sero a sheepish smile. “I couldn’t think of anything else.” Sero blinks up at him, then grins wide, reaching up to take his hand. 

“Dude, don’t apologize. That was  _ awesome _ . It’s my fault for underestimating you,” he says, and Izuku helps pull him to his feet. “You know your nose is bleeding, right?” Sero points to his own nose, and Izuku blinks, reaching up to wipe his sleeve across his face. He looks down at it, sees the smear of bright blood.

“I didn’t even notice,” Izuku replies, glancing up at Sero. He’s god a smear of blood on his forehead that isn’t his, and his face is starting to bruise. Izuku looks at his arms, sees what looks kind of like carpet burn from sliding around on the ground as well as the ring shaped bite mark from Izuku. It looks like two matching crescents, red and already swelling. Now that they’re up close, Izuku can see that only a few places are bleeding, but the whole thing looks like it’ll make a nasty bruise.

“You were smart to wear the long-sleeved uniform,” Sero comments, brushing dirt off of his arms and wincing. “The ground here isn’t very forgiving.” Izuku nods, not saying that he hadn’t thought of that at all.  _ I wear this to hide my cuts, _ he thinks,  _ but it did come in handy _ .

“Come on,” Izuku startles, turning to see Aizawa walking up to them, his hands in his pockets. “Let’s get you two to Recovery Girl and get you patched up.” He looks at them, a faint smile on his lips. “You both did very well.”

Izuku grins up at him. “I listened to what you said, about fighting dirty.”

Aizawa raises an eyebrow. “I noticed,” he says, and Izuku swears the little huff of air he lets out next is a laugh.

\--

“Nervous?” Uraraka leans on the table in Izuku’s prep room. She’s changed into casual clothes, since she didn’t make it into the third round. 

“A little,” Izuku admits. He’s all fixed up, courtesy of Recovery Girl, but his head kind of hurts and he’s still a little tired from it. He didn’t get to watch Todoroki’s first match, and facing him so early in the competition is making Izuku’s palms sweat. Even though Uraraka has described Todoroki’s opening move, a huge wall of ice, to him in excruciating detail, Izuku can't think up a way around it. 

“You’ll be okay,” Uraraka says, patting him on the top of his head with one hand. “It matters more that you stand out, right? I think you did that just fine in your first match, really.” Izuku nods.

“I don’t want to lose right away, though.” Izuku picks at his cuticles, twisting his hands on the tabletop. “I want to make him work for it.”

Uraraka giggles. “Are you gonna bite him, too?” Izuku feels his face heat up. 

“T-That--” He stumbles on his words, his face surely bright red.

Uraraka cuts him off. “It was hilarious! And,” she meets his gaze, looking serious, “it was genius. I think we’ve all been underestimating you, Deku.”

Izuku looks away. “I-It wasn’t  _ that _ smart...” It was instinctual. He hadn’t planned it out.

“It was  _ great _ .” Uraraka pats his head, again, then sighs. Izuku looks up to see her rolling her eyes. “You’re too humble, Deku. Get down there and kick some ass, okay?”

Izuku nods smiling at her. “I-I’ll try!” He says, standing up and turning to glance at the clock. Uraraka’s right that he needs to head down; there’s about five minutes until the start of the match. He starts towards the door, and Uraraka follows him. 

“I’ll walk with you until the tunnel, okay?” She smiles at him, and Izuku smiles back at her gratefully. They walk in relative silence, the sounds of their soft footsteps against the tile of the building filling the space. 

Izuku knows that he’s died twice, during the festival. They’ve been to different reset points, but he really doesn’t know if there’s enough time between them for it to matter. He only has about two or three more deaths in him before he won’t be in any state to fight, and it makes him nervous, his heart picking up in its beating and his palms sweating. He doesn’t want to take the gamble of dying and losing in the first round next time, but how could he beat Todoroki? Would he even  _ make _ it to a fight with Todoroki, next time?

The thing is, Izuku knows his best chance of getting far in the festival is to reset and hope he gets easier matches. He’s seen the bracket; if he beats Todoroki, he’s probably up against Kacchan in the semifinals, anyway. He  _ knows _ he can’t beat Kacchan in a one on one in an open space, as much as it hurts. 

But Izuku doesn’t want to just win. It’s stupid and it’s naive and he  _ knows _ that, but he wants to fight Todoroki and he wants to make him use his fire. He wants to show Todoroki that his fire isn’t his father’s. That it’s  _ his _ . Izuku doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know why he cares, but he thinks it has something to do with the way Todoroki found him, twice. The way Todoroki trusted him with his story, even when Izuku hadn’t really told  _ him _ anything. Izuku doesn’t get that from people. Kacchan sees him as a rival, but not a threat, not an equal. Todoroki had challenged him. He’d said he wouldn’t lose, said it like it was a possibility in the first place. 

It makes Izuku want to win. As he steps through the doors to the tunnel, he turns and looks at Uraraka, smiling at her. 

“Good luck, Deku!” She grins back at him. He nods to her, stepping through into the tunnel. It’s the same as last round, dim and calm and quiet. All Might isn’t there waiting, though. Across the field, in the other tunnel, Izuku can see an orange glow.  _ Endeavor _ , he realizes, as he watches the fiery man gesture. He can barely make out Todoroki in the shadows, looking up at his father. Izuku wishes he could see their faces, could hear their conversation, but he can’t. 

Izuku takes a deep, steadying breath, and steps out of the tunnel, into the field. He’s surprised to hear cheers, loud and bright from the audience, and when he looks up, he sees a group of class 1-A, cheering him on. He can see Sero up there, and Izuku grins when Sero mimes biting his own arm and gives Izuku a thumbs up. 

Izuku glances back toward the other tunnel just in time to see Todoroki step out, his expression dark and his face shadowed by his hair. A similar cheer rises up from the audience, but it doesn’t feel the same, not with the haunted look on Todoroki’s face. Izuku swallows, turning to face him completely.

“Are you ready for the second round?!” Present Mic shouts. “Both from class 1-A, we have Shouto Todoroki and Izuku Midoriya! Todoroki is quite an impressive character, defeating his first opponent in mere seconds in the first round. Midoriya is a bit of an underdog, but he pulled through with a decisive victory last round. Let’s pay close attention to this one!” Izuku watches Todoroki take a deep breath, an icy mist coming from his nostrils. 

“Ready?” Izuku swallows, tensing and getting ready to dodge. His muscles feel like live wires, tense and painful.

“Go!” Present Mic screams, and Izuku rushes forward, dashing low to the ground at Todoroki’s feet. Todoroki sees him coming, of course--there’s nowhere to hide.

As Izuku slides forward, he sees Todoroki raise one hand, not even flinching away. His right hand comes up, and Izuku sees the starburst of ice bloom out from it before it overtakes him, a wave of thick blue ice that wraps around Izuku’s limbs, pinning him in his position. Izuku can hear the crackling of the wave as it keeps growing, pulling Izuku back and up. It stops, and Todoroki drops his hand, frost falling from where it’s gathered on his clothes.

“Midoriya, can you move?” Midnight asks from the sidelines, sighing. Izuku swallows, tugging at his arms. The cold of the ice is painful, stinging and burning at his skin, and no matter how hard he pulls, he can’t rip his arms loose.

“N-No...” he replies, hating the way his voice shakes and quivers.  _ I can’t win against him _ , he thinks, his head spinning.  _ He’s too powerful. What was I thinking? Making him use his fire? I’d be lucky to last five minutes. _

“The match is over!” Present Mic shouts, as bubbly as ever. “Just like his first round, Todoroki wins in a matter of moments. We’ll take a short break to clear the field, like last time.” The audience is murmuring, a heavy chatter that fills Izuku’s head. He tries to move his arms, but they don’t budge.

Todoroki walks up to him, his face dark and his brows low. He looks almost  _ sad _ as he presses his left hand to Izuku’s chest, a burst of steam coming off of Izuku’s uniform as the ice starts to melt.

“Sorry, I went a little overboard,” Todoroki says, looking at Izuku’s chest and not his eyes. “I was just angry is all.” Izuku swallows, not replying as he’s released from the ice. He falls out of the wave of it, barely landing on his feet.  _ I’m shivering _ , he notes, holding his hands up to look at them.

“Are you... okay?” Todoroki asks, glancing up at his face, then back down at the ground. He drops his hands, holding them by his side. “Nevermind,” he says, turning on his heels and walking back towards his tunnel. 

Izuku blinks, takes a deep breath, and turns, too. He walks into the tunnel, feeling the murmurs and the shouts of the audience on his back, even though he  _ knows _ they’re just cheering for Todoroki’s win. Izuku feels like they’re mocking him. He sees Aizawa, leaning against the side wall of the tunnel, but doesn’t look at him, just walks by.

“Midoriya,” Aizawa says, and Izuku hears him following him. “Where are you going?”

“I want to be alone,” Izuku replies, distantly. He doesn’t feel like he’s really here. He isn’t, not for long, anyway. Aizawa doesn’t reply right away, but Izuku can still hear his footsteps, can hear him sigh.

“Is that a good idea?” Aizawa asks, and Izuku turns to look at him. 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Izuku replies, sliding his gaze back forward when he thinks he sees concern on his teacher’s face. “I’m fine. I just want to be alone.”  _ Todoroki is the one who needs support right now, anyway _ .

“Okay,” Aizawa replies. He follows Izuku into the building anyway. Izuku wants to hit him, for some reason, but he doesn’t. He walks down the hallway without looking back until he doesn’t hear footsteps behind him anymore. 

_ The bathroom is too risky _ , he thinks, walking along the hallway until he spots what he’s looking for. It’s an unassuming door, shut tightly, with the label “janitorial” on the wall beside it. Izuku tries the handle, surprised when it opens readily. He slips inside, not bothering to turn on the lights.

It’s pitch black in the closet, and when he fumbles behind him, he finds the lock for the door. It turns with a click, and Izuku sighs, pressing his eyes shut for just a moment. When he opens them again, they’ve started adjusting to the darkness. Izuku can see a shelf, laden with chemicals, a janitor’s cart, bright yellow and ready for use, and a tiled area with a drain in the bottom and a faucet up top.  _ For washing the cart _ , he thinks, and Izuku walks over to it. It smells awful, like ammonia and artificial lemons. 

Izuku sits on the tile, holds his wrists above the drain, and slices himself open. If he shuts his eyes and concentrates on the smell of his own blood, he can almost pretend he feels okay.

\--

Izuku blinks awake in the mess hall, his spoon clattering to the table when it falls out of his hand. It splashes miso soup onto his hand and the table. 

“Deku?” Uraraka tips her head at him, across the table. 

“You okay man?” Kirishima leans forward, reaches in front of Kacchan and leans over the table to pass Izuku a napkin. “You got kinda pale all of a sudden.”

“I-I’m okay,” Izuku says, taking the napkin with a shaky hand. “I just spaced out.”

Uraraka frowns, furrowing her brow. “Are you sure?” 

“I’m going to get some air,” Izuku chokes out, standing up and pushing his chair back. The whole table is looking at him, Kirishima and Uraraka and Kacchan and Iida and--Izuku can’t take it. He turns, not caring how it looks, and hurries out of the mess hall, hands clenched into fists at his sides. It feels like every sound in the mess hall is burning his skin, and he can’t handle it. He rushes outside, almost running, and the bright spring sunshine sends a shiver down his spine. Izuku freezes, outside the mess hall, staring up at the leaves, lit from above by the sky, too bright and too pretty for how he feels. He doesn’t know what he wants, doesn’t know if he wants to curl up somewhere dark and quiet or if he wants to punch a wall or if he wants to open a vein. He wants to beat Todoroki, he thinks. He wants to be less of a failure, maybe.

“Midoriya?” Aizawa is leaning against the side of the mess hall, because of  _ course _ he is. Izuku can’t catch a break. He glances at Aizawa, sees surprise, maybe, on his face.

“Sensei,” Izuku says, and his voice cracks, embarrassingly. Aizawa’s brow furrows.

“Are you alright?” He straightens up, pulling himself off the side of the building and stepping forward, looking Izuku over. Izuku stares back at him.

“I-I’m...” Izuku blinks. He shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he answers, and Aizawa raises an eyebrow at him. 

“You don’t look ‘fine,’” He raises a hand, presses the back of it to Izuku’s forehead. “Hmm. Come with me,” he says, turning and walking into the trees. Izuku follows, his feet dragging through the grass. Izuku reaches out a hand as he passes a tree, scraping his palm against it. The bark is rough and cool, and the sensation is grounding, just a little. He blinks, trying to keep his focus, but he can’t.

Aizawa stops, and Izuku pauses looking around. They’re in a clearing in the woods, a little circle where the sunlight drifts down from above freely, not broken up by the leaves. Aizawa turns to face Izuku.

“It’s quieter, over here,” he says, his gaze moving over Izuku’s face. Izuku nods. “Do you know what’s wrong?” 

Izuku swallows, shakes his head. “I-I think I’m nervous,” he says, looking at the ground. The grass is a mix of greens, the blades long and untrimmed. He can see an ant crawling up a thin blade, a little black body that sways with the wind. 

“About the tournament?” Aizawa asks. Izuku glances up at him.

“Y-Yeah,” Izuku murmurs. “I don’t want to... I don’t want to lose in an instant,” he says, his voice cracking. “I’m so  _ weak _ .”

Aizawa sighs. “You’re not weak, Midoriya. You’re  _ learning _ .” He reaches forward, setting a hand on Izuku’s shoulder. The contact is warm, heavy, and it brings Izuku back to himself just a little. 

“I’m quirkless,” Izuku says, clenching the muscles of his jaw. “How am I supposed to beat someone like Todoroki? Or Kacchan?” Aizawa blinks, slowly, his face saying calm, but filling with something like understanding.

“You work hard and you train harder,” Aizawa says. “The quirk doesn’t make the hero, Midoriya.” He sighs, squeezing Izuku’s shoulder. “Even if you lose here, you have a lot of time ahead of you. You’ll get stronger.”

Izuku nods, swallowing. “I’m sorry for bothering you,” he says, twisting his hands together. “It was your lunch break, and I’m being stupid.”

“You’re not bothering me,” Aizawa says, voice firm, “and you’re not being stupid. It’s my job to help you kids through these things.” 

Izuku nods, biting at his lip. “D-Do you know if the tournament bracket is released yet?” He needs to know if his reset point is before or after the randomization. If he’s paired against Sero again, he knows he’ll do fine, but he doesn’t know what to do against Todoroki. 

Aizawa takes his hand off of Izuku’s shoulder, reaching into his pocket instead. “Let’s check,” he says, fishing out his phone and messing with it for a moment. “It’s up,” he says, scrolling through something.

Izuku leans forward. “W-Who am I against?” He can’t see Aizawa’s screen, but Aizawa turns it for him, showing him the bracket.

“You’re up in the fourth match, against Aoyama.” Aizawa holds the phone out still, tucking one hand into his pocket. “Don’t hold back on him just because you teamed up with him in the cavalry battle.”

Izuku nods, eyes still on the bracket. “I won’t,” he says, reading. “If I win, I’ll face Kacchan in the second round...” Aizawa hums, turning the phone back to look at it.

“Either him or Monoma from class 1-B,” Aizawa says, looking at the screen impassively. “You don’t know for certain that Bakugou would win.”

Izuku nods. “R-Right,” he says, because he supposes he doesn’t know. Not yet, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: dissociation, canonical child abuse
> 
> thank you for reading!!! as always, i appreciate all the comments and support :D i think the sports festival arc will take up about 3-4 more chapters, making it the longest arc yet! hopefully it's plenty interesting despite the length!
> 
> for your convenience, the link to the discord server for this fic: https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt


	20. sports festival, part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku beat sero but lost to todoroki in the third round of the sports festival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GUYS!!! sorry again about not updating yesterday, but it was super busy so i didn't really stand a chance at writing! im posting today's chapter a little earlier than normal, and im gonna try to have two chapters either tomorrow or tuesday to make up for it! today's chapter was really fun to write, so i hope you enjoy!
> 
> also omg... over 100k words!!

When Izuku steps into the tunnel again, he isn't surprised to see All Might there. He moves through the conversation, trying to match his words from the first time the best he can. He thinks All Might can tell something is off, but he doesn't comment on it if he does. It's refreshing to not have to explain himself. It’s also nice to hear the apology again, even if it’s not a surprise this time through. 

When All Might turns to leave, Izuku turns to face the field, that same view he's seen twice already. He wonders how many more times he'll get to see it from this view, as one of the competitors. He can see Aoyama, too, looking nervous in the light spilling into his own tunnel. Izuku smiles at him, but he doesn't think Aoyama can see his face from this distance.

Izuku walks forward, out into the field. It's still dazzlingly bright as he walks into the ring. Aoyama seems to be enjoying it, though, waving at the audience and grinning brightly. When he steps into the ring, their eyes meet, and Izuku smiles back at Aoyama, who nods. 

“For our next match, we have Izuku Midoriya and Yuuga Aoyama, both from class 1-A! These two were on the same team for the cavalry battle and pulled off a surprise steal of third place.” Present Mic sounds the same as always. It’s a nice constant throughout this. Izuku hasn’t listened to his radio show regularly since starting at UA, but he thinks he might start again.

“Ready?” He asks, and Izuku drops into a fighting stance. Aoyama lifts his hands to rest on the back of his head and winks at Izuku. 

“Start!” As soon as he speaks, Aoyama is firing off his navel laser, a brilliant, shining beam that Izuku dodges easily. He steps to the side, dashing forward at Aoyama as the beam dissipates, dissolving into a faint trace of glitter in the air. Izuku pulls his leg back, aiming a solid kick. It collides with the ridge of Aoyama’s hip, and Izuku grits his teeth as it knocks Aoyama almost to the ground, the man folding over for just a second before catching himself. 

“You’re fast, Midoriya,” Aoyama says, leaning back and firing a laser that Izuku just barely manages to slide out of the way of. He can feel the buzz of energy as it grazes the edge of his uniform, burning away the fabric there and leaving a ripped patch just above his left knee. Izuku uses the momentum from the dodge to propel himself forward, sweeping a leg into Aoyama’s ankles. 

This time, Aoyama does fall, and Izuku watches him land on hands and knees, biting his lip and looking up at Izuku. Izuku grimaces, not really looking forward to this next part, then throws himself on Aoyama’s back, his knees driving into the space between Aoyama’s shoulder blades. Izuku hears the sharp exhale of breath when it knocks the wind out of his friend. 

“Sorry, Aoyama,” Izuku says, planting one hand on the back of Aoyama’s head and shoving it down into the ground. “But if I let you up, you can use your quirk. I can’t afford to get hurt here.” Aoyama coughs, trying to press himself up off of the ground with his hands, his elbows shaking with the effort. 

“You’re something extraordinary, Midoriya,” Aoyama wheezes out. “I give up.” Izuku blinks in surprise, just as Midnight raises a hand. 

“Aoyama has conceded! The match goes to Midoriya!” She glances up, presumably at the announcers’ stand, and Izuku hears Present Mic repeating the ruling more loudly. Izuku doesn’t really listen; he’s too preoccupied with releasing Aoyama’s neck and standing up, trying to put as little extra pressure on Aoyama’s back as possible.

“W-Why did you concede?” Izuku asks, offering a hand to Aoyama. “We’d only just started.”

Aoyama smiles at him, a sly smile that Izuku can’t read. “I know when I’ve been beat,” he says, taking Izuku’s hand. “It did not strike me as particularly elegant to drag out a battle I knew I could not win.” He lifts himself up with Izuku’s help, but he doesn’t release Izuku’s hand. 

“How do you know that you would have lost?” Izuku says, looking down at where Aoyama’s hand is still clasped around his own. 

“Because,” Aoyama says, a sage look on his face. “There was absolutely no way I could have gotten you off of my back.” He nods, then releases Izuku’s hand. Izuku squints at him.

“What?” He asks, and Aoyama just shrugs, flipping his hair out of his face and turning to walk toward the tunnel he’d come in from. 

“Au revoir, Midoriya,” Aoyama says in response, giving him a quick wave before turning away. Izuku stares after him, then shakes his head. 

“I don’t get that guy,” he mutters, turning to walk back toward his own tunnel.  _ At least this means I stand a chance of actually getting to fight Todoroki this round _ , he thinks, even though he doubts that his second match would go quite this well. Not if it’s Kacchan he’s facing.

\--

Izuku settles into his seat in the stands, wrapping his hands around the grips on the seat. Uraraka beams at him from the seat next to him. 

“Hey Deku, you totally destroyed Aoyama!” She says, gesturing with her hands. “He didn’t even stand a chance before you just--” she makes a noise with her mouth, something like a whoosh, and Izuku nods, smiling despite himself. 

“I-I guess I did okay,” he says, shrugging. From Uraraka’s other side, Iida leans forward, a bright smile on his face.

“You did exceedingly well, Midoriya! I can only hope I’ll have the chance to face you later on.” Iida says, meeting Izuku’s gaze, and Izuku looks away, biting his lip.

“W-Well, I’ll probably be facing Kacchan next, so...” he trails off, and he hears an understanding sigh from Uraraka.

“You beat him in the training exercise, didn’t you?” She says, and Izuku looks up to see a soft smile on her face. “He’s up next, by the way.” She points to the field, and Izuku looks down. Kacchan and Monoma look like spiky and smooth versions of the same haircut as they walk out into the field. Izuku swallows. He doesn’t think he’s ready, to face Kacchan one on one like this.

_ As much as Uraraka is right that I beat him in battle training _ , he thinks, gripping the arms of the chair hard as the two combatants step into the ring together,  _ I have never been able to win against Kacchan one on one. I don’t stand a chance. _

“It’s time for the next match,” Present Mic says. “First up, we’ve got Katsuki Bakugou from class 1-A! He got off to quite an  _ explosive _ start in the first two rounds!” The audience laughs, and Izuku leans forward, trying to see Kacchan’s expression. It’s impossible to tell from the distance, but Izuku would guess that Kacchan is already pissed, judging from the small sparks popping around his palms where they’re held at his sides.

“He’ll be facing off against Neito Monoma, from class 1-B. This hero course student showed off his powerful copying quirk in the second round when he and Bakugou fought each other for that first place spot! Now, they’ll finally get a rematch, one on one. Are we ready?” The audience cheers, and Izuku watches Kacchan slide into a crouch, ready to fight. Monoma doesn’t move, hands on his hips. 

“Start!” Izuku watches Kacchan burst forward, twisting his body in preparation for his right hook. Izuku bites his lip, leaning forward in the seat.

“You’re telegraphing,” he whispers, and sure enough, Monoma dodges easily, tapping one hand on the side of Kacchan’s arm as the punch flies past him. Izuku grits his teeth, shaking his head as Kacchan dives in for another hit, an explosion on the palm of his hand that Monoma easily deflects with one of his own. 

“Nice quirk,” Monoma says, his voice projected so the audience can hear. A screen hovering over the stands across from Izuku and his friends shows a close up of Monoma’s face as he smirks.

“But mine’s better,” he says, ducking forward and slamming a hand into Kacchan’s chest, the motion exploding with pops of bright light. Izuku winces as Kacchan goes skidding back, a hand pressed to his chest for a moment before he reorients himself.  _ I know how that one feels _ , he thinks. Kacchan doesn’t hesitate though, sliding back into a fighting stance.

“Shut up,” Kacchan growls. “Can’t you come up with your own fucking moves?” He snarls, before moving forward in a clear repetition of his earlier right hook. Izuku winces, but can’t look away, and he blinks in surprise as Kacchan drops his fist at the last second, turning the twisting momentum of his punch into a low side kick that hits Monoma square in the stomach as the boy dodges. Izuku sees the way Monoma leans over, coughing to catch his breath, and Kacchan doesn’t hesitate, lobbing an explosive punch at the other boy’s face.

The explosion covers the field for a moment, and Izuku strains, trying to see either of them among the bright pops of explosion and the dark smoke. He grits his teeth, literally on the edge of his seat.

“Is it over...?” Uraraka asks beside him, and Izuku glances over to see that she’s just as engrossed as he is. The field finally, finally starts to clear, and Izuku blinks, reaching a hand to cover his mouth. Monoma and Kacchan are right on the edge of the field, standing with the white tape beside them as they exchange punches and kicks. It’s clear that Kacchan is a better fighter, but Monoma has a grin on his face, and whatever he’s saying right now isn’t being projected. Kacchan seems to be reacting to it, and Izuku sees the exact moment Monoma says something that pisses him off, and Izuk feels a hit of dread as Kacchan swipes forward with a kick. 

Monoma laughs, dodging underneath Kacchan’s leg and giving him a firm shove in the back, his hands exploding as he does. Kacchan lands on his feet, whirling around to hit him, but Izuku can see that his left foot is outside of bounds, just barely over the edge of the tape.

“Bakugou is out of bounds!” Present Mic shouts, and Kacchan jerks in surprise on the field below, explosions crackling out of his palms. “Monoma wins!” Kacchan growls, loud enough that Izuku thinks he actually  _ hears  _ it over the crowd of the audience, but it could just be that he’s seen that look on Kacchan’s face enough times that he knows what noise he’d make. He leaps forward at Monoma, his palms sparking and blasting, but the explosions suddenly end. Izuku can see Aizawa, walking up behind Kacchan with his hair floating above his head. Kacchan goes for Monoma anyway, and Aizawa’s capture weapon shoots out to wrap around his arms, tugging him away. 

“I can’t believe he  _ lost _ ,” Uraraka whispers, echoing Izuku’s thoughts. “What did Monoma say to him to get him so pissed off?”

“I can’t imagine it’s all that difficult to get that reaction out of Bakugou,” Iida comments, and when Izuku glances over, there’s a strange furrow to his brow. “I’m simply surprised that Monoma was able to get him out of bounds regardless of his emotional state.”

“I-I think we all underestimated Monoma,” Izuku says, swallowing. “I can’t believe...”

“You’re fighting him in the second round, aren’t you Deku?” Uraraka gives him a sympathetic look. “Do you think you’ll be okay?” Izuku shrugs, anxiety prickling under his skin. From a couple of rows down, Kaminari twists in his seat, looking up to face them. 

“Oh, Midoriya will be fine!” He chirps, a grin on his face. “Didn’t you see how Monoma fought? He totally relied on Bakugou’s quirk. Against someone like Midoriya who’s all fighting skill and no quirk, he’s gonna get  _ smoked _ !” Kaminari gives Izuku a thumbs up. “I’m gonna get popcorn to watch that fight.”

Izuku blinks. “I-I don’t know if I’m that good at fighting,” he says, uncurling his fingers where they’ve been tightly wrapped around the arms of his chair. “H-He looked pretty good at it...”

“Are you kidding?” Uraraka elbows him. “Deku, you’re one of the best in the class! I think only Ojiro and maybe Bakugou can compare, and they both have quirks to use.”

Izuku feels his face turn red, and he splutters to try and respond. “I-I’m not t-that good!” he says, twisting his hands together and looking down at his lap. “I-I just practice a lot...”

“You train as much as Bakugou studies, dude,” Kaminari chimes in. “I wish I had that kind of motivation! I’d be all buff and muscle-y.” He laughs, and Iida and Uraraka laugh along with him. After a moment, Izuku joins in, the words of his friends slowly uncoiling the tight anxiety in his chest.

\--

Izuku stands in the tunnel once again. It’s becoming familiar, even though he’s not on the same side of the field every time. The tunnels are identical, all smooth concrete walls over pressed dirt ground, and it’s a constant with each of these fights. This time, he’s on the one that has light spilling in from the angle of the afternoon sun. Izuku’s standing with the tips of his shoes  _ just _ inside of the shadow, the sunlight threatening to spill over and touch them. 

“Nervous?” Aizawa’s voice doesn’t surprise Izuku. He’s leaning on the side wall of the tunnel, where Izuku thinks he’s been since he finished carting Kacchan away. Izuku wonders where Kacchan is now, if he’s calmed down. 

“A little,” Izuku admits, kicking at the ground. The edge of his shoe hits the light. Izuku thinks about last time’s second round, when he lost in moments. He’s hopeful that this won’t be like that. 

Aizawa nods. “Try not to let him get under your skin,” he says, and Izuku stops fiddling with his feet to properly look at him. “He’s not that skilled in hand to hand, but he makes up for it by being clever. You’ll be fine if you don’t let him get in your head.”

Izuku nods, pressing his lips together in determination. “I won’t let him get to me,” he promises, clenching his hands into fists at his sides. “If I beat him here...”

Aizawa nods. “You’ll either be up against Todoroki or Kirishima for the semifinal.” He glances over to the field. “It’s time,” he says, and when Izuku follows his gaze, he can see Monoma stepping out of his tunnel, into the bright light. His blue-grey eyes seem already fixed on Izuku, a lazy smile on his face becoming more visible as he gets closer.

Izuku turns, walking out onto the field himself. The bright light isn’t as jarring this time, and he’s not sure if it’s from being used to it or if it’s because he’s in the other tunnel. Monoma’s definitely grinning at him, a wide smirk that makes Izuku’s stomach twitch with nerves. They step into the ring, facing each other. 

“For the second match of the second round, we have Izuku Midoriya from class 1-A against Neito Monoma from class 1-B!” Present Mic’s voice fills Izuku’s ears, soothing him. He knows how this part goes. 

“This is an interesting match up, given that Midoriya is quirkless and Monoma’s quirk allows him to copy others’ quirks! We’ll be in for an entertaining fight for sure. Ready?” Izuku settles into a fighting stance. Just like in his match with Kacchan, Monoma doesn’t shift, still standing normally with a confident smile. 

“Start!” Izuku moves immediately, mirroring Kacchan’s signature right hook. Monoma dodges it, easily, and Izuku twists with the motion, spinning around to hit Monoma in the side with a back kick that strikes him hard, the ball of Izuku’s foot contacting him with force. Izuku grins when he sees Monoma wince, his smile faltering. 

“Did you think I’d be an easy match up?” Izuku asks, sliding forward with an elbow strike that Monoma barely deflects, the palm of his hand sliding off of Izuku’s uniform sleeve. 

“On the contrary,” Monoma hisses, moving in so he’s closer to Izuku. “You’re the worst possible match for me,” he says, throwing up a knee that hits Izuku on the hip bone. The pain is bright and quick, but it’s nothing compared to what Izuku has felt before. Izuku sees an opening, an unguarded spot on Monoma’s stomach, and he quickly strikes out with a fist, hitting the other boy in the center of his stomach. Monoma groans, stumbling back to hold his stomach, and Izuku uses the greater distance to whip a leg out, smacking Monoma in the side of his head.

“I’m glad you’re aware of it,” Izuku says back to him before he can think better of it. Fighting makes him bold, he thinks as he steps back, letting Monoma be the one to move in next.

“Bold words,” Monoma says, rolling his eyes as he settles into a fighting stance. “Coming from a  _ quirkless  _ guy.” He grins, showing his teeth as he darts in, aiming a punch at Izuku’s face. Izuku blocks it with a forearm. 

“I’m quirkless,” Izuku says, moving in to body slam Monoma, forcing him to step back or lose his balance. “And I’m still going to beat you.”

Monoma hums. “What if you’re not, though?” he asks, sidestepping out of the way of a kick Izuku throws at his chest.

“What?” Izuku asks, ducking forward and kneeing Monoma in the chest. Monoma gets a hand between his chest and Izuku’s knee, but Izuku still hears a pained grunt at the impact.

“What if you’re not quirkless?” Monoma says through gritted teeth. “Do you even have the extra toe joint?”

“I don’t,” Izuku replies, sliding back from Monoma. “Why do you care?”

Monoma shrugs, his fists still ready to try and block Izuku at any moment. “I can tell if someone has a quirk or not if I copy it. Wouldn’t you like to know for sure? Whether you’re actually quirkless or not?” He steps forward as he says it, throwing a kick that smacks Izuku in the side. Izuku hisses, sliding in to prevent him from being able to follow up with another kick.

“Because,” Monoma continues, even as he jerks his face out of the way of Izuku’s backhand. “If you have a quirk and you’re still like this, doesn’t that just mean you’re useless? That there’s no excuse for it, that you’re worthless and weak all on your own?” 

Izuku growls and shoots forward, his elbow cracking along Monoma’s jaw with a satisfying sound. “Shut  _ up _ ,” he hisses as Monoma jerks back, a hand coming up to hold his jaw where it’s already bruising. “I don’t care.”

“You don’t?” Monoma asks, a strange light in his eyes. “Why, are you afraid to know the truth?” He steps forward, a hand outstretched like he’s going to try and touch Izuku. Izuku bares his teeth at him and slides in, grabbing Monoma by the front of his uniform, flipping him over his shoulder and onto the ground, over the edge of the white tape. Monoma hits against the ground with a pained expression on his face, and Izuku stares down at him as Present Mic announces his victory.

“I’m not afraid,” Izuku says. “It just doesn’t matter to me. I beat  _ you _ , either way, so I guess I’m not really all that weak or useless.” Izuku steps back, turning away before Monoma can respond. He walks back into the tunnel as the crowd cheers around him.

\--

Izuku isn’t surprised to see Kacchan waiting for him when steps out of Recovery Girl’s office, the bruising on his knuckles and a shoulder muscle he hadn’t even noticed healed. He’s chewing on the fruit gummies she’d given him, telling him to rehydrate and rest up before his next match. He’s not even really tired, actually, and it’s kind of a strange feeling considering that for him, this was his fourth fight and not his second. This day has already stretched on so long for him, and he wonders if he adds up the hours, how long it really has been. 

Kacchan is leaning against the wall across from the door as Izuku steps out, pushing the door closed behind him. It shuts with a soft click. His friend has changed into a tank top and shorts, still wearing the uniform training shoes. 

“Deku,” Kacchan says, his voice low but not quite angry, not yet. Izuku can see a bandage on his upper arm, where there must be a burn from his fight with Monoma. Izuku wonders if Kacchan had refused to have it be healed, or if Recovery Girl had chosen to spare his stamina. 

“K-Kacchan,” Izuku replies, stuttering like he’s in middle school. He hates that he still does that, when he’s nervous or surprised. 

“How the fuck did you beat him?” Kacchan asks, pushing himself off of the wall and stalking forward, toward Izuku. “How the fuck did you beat him when I couldn’t?”

Izuku blinks. “I-It was a bad matchup for him,” he explains, holding up his hands in a preemptive surrender as Kacchan gets closer to him. “Your quirk is so powerful, s-so it helped him beat you, but--”

“Did you use yours?” Kacchan demands, grabbing the front of Izuku’s uniform. “Did you use your secret fucking quirk to beat him?” Izuku brings a hand up, holding Kacchan’s wrist. His muscles are tense under the skin, and Izuku can feel his tendons, the bones of his wrist. 

“I-I can’t use it in the middle of combat like that,” Izuku says, shaking his head. “It’s--It’s not something that would give me an advantage in that fight.” Kacchan’s eyes narrow, the red of his irises glinting like rubies in the light. 

“You better not be fucking lying to me, Deku,” Kacchan growls, but it’s not the same as when he growled in middle school, not the same as the beginning of the year. “Or else I’ll kill you.”

Izuku can’t help himself, a snort of a laugh escaping him at that. He sees Kacchan’s face twist as he snarls.

“You don’t think I could fucking do it?” Kacchan hisses, and Izuku shakes his head, still trying not to laugh outright. 

“No, no, it’s not that!” he answers, smiling despite himself. “It’s, um, it’s an inside joke,” he says, the excuse sounding weak even to him, but Kacchan sighs and releases his grip on Izuku’s shirt. 

“You’re fucking weird, Deku,” he says as he turns and walks away, stomping slightly. Izuku shakes his head, still grinning at his internal joke as he follows.

\--

Izuku stands in the tunnel, once more. He can see Endeavor again, talking to Todoroki in the shade on the other side of the field. He doesn’t have to hear what they’re saying to know it’s nasty, judging by the way they gesture and what he remembers from the last time. It’s unreal to Izuku, that he’s made it to the semifinals at all, and something about it makes him feel odd, like he shouldn’t have made it this far. He can remember his complete defeat at Todoroki’s hands last time, and it makes him nervous, but he has a plan. It’s not pretty and it’s not polite, but Izuku thinks it just might work.

He steps out onto the field, not hesitating. Listening to the sounds of the audience as he and Todoroki approach each other, he traces his eyes over Todoroki’s face, over the furious set to his jaw and the glint of pain in his eyes. Izuku feels bad for what he’s planning, considering how upset Todoroki already looks.

“For the first match of the semifinals, we have two students from class 1-A! Izuku Midoriya, an underdog who’s blown away all of our expectations with his decisive victories in his first two matches, will be facing off against Shouto Todoroki, who has absolutely destroyed both of his opponents thus far!” Present Mic sounds excited for their fight. “I’m looking forward to seeing this one, personally!”

“Ready?” Izuku makes eye contact with Todoroki, then, in a move he’s never practiced but has thought about for the past few minutes, blinks rapidly, rolling his eyes back and up.

“Start!” Present Mic calls, and Izuku lets himself drop to the ground, falling like he’s just gone limp, forward. He hears an uproar from the audience as he hits the ground, hears Todoroki move forward.

“Midoriya?!” Izuku can hear that same panic in his voice that he did in the bathroom both of those times, and he feels guilty when he opens his eyes and reaches up, grabbing the front of Todoroki’s sports uniform and yanking him into a punch to the gut.

“Sorry, Todoroki,” Izuku says, watching surprise and pain flit across Todoroki’s face. “But there was no way I was going to win without fighting dirty.” Izuku hauls himself to his feet, throwing an elbow strike that collides with the edge of Todoroki's jaw. 

Todoroki growls, low and angry and feral, and he swings at Izuku with his right fist, ice already gathering on his knuckles. Izuku slides forward, into Todoroki's chest. The punch just misses him, but Izuku can still feel the icy burn of the cold surrounding Todoroki's arm. Izuku wonders if pissing him off will just make things worse for him, but quickly dismisses the idea.  _ He’s already mad _ , Izuku thinks as he slides in, keeping close to Todoroki even as the other student tries to back away.  _ His dad did that for me. _

When Todoroki tries to step back again, Izuku grabs onto the front of his uniform shirt and pulls himself in so they’re almost touching. It earns him an icy punch to the shoulder, but it’s worth it when Izuku raises a knee up sharply, hitting Todoroki square in the crotch. He doesn’t release him though, keeping close.

“Can’t do that big wall of ice on me if I’m this close, can you?” Izuku asks as he tips his head back, then slams his forehead into Todoroki’s face. Their height difference means that the bone of his forehead hits right on Todoroki’s nose, and Izuku can both feel and smell the wave of iron-hot blood that pours out from Todoroki’s nose. Todoroki grunts, smashing a fist directly into Izuku’s face. Izuku’s nose crunches, sickening and gross, and Izuku squints his eyes against the sharp pain as his nose starts bleeding.

Todoroki raises his right hand, and Izuku recognizes the movement of the air that means he’s about to use his quirk. Izuku grits his teeth and reaches out, grabbing onto Todoroki’s outstretched arm just as a wave of sharp ice flows out from it, slicing the flesh on Izuku’s legs and slamming into him with bruising force. Izuku grits his teeth. 

“Trying to drag the match out?” Todoroki asks, glaring at him behind his mismatched bangs. “You’re not going to last long like that.” He swings his right hand again, and Izuku rushes forward once more, tackling into Todoroki’s chest with the full force of his weight. Todoroki grunts underneath him but doesn’t fall, ice cracking around them. Izuku can feel himself shivering, but he thinks Todoroki might be shivering, too. 

“You’re shivering,” Izuku says, wrapping his fists in the fabric of Todoroki’s uniform and leaning forward to sink his teeth into Todoroki’s shoulder, into the meat of where his neck beets his shoulder. Todoroki hisses, kicking at him and trying to pull him off, but Izuku digs his teeth in harder. Todoroki reels back, punching Izuku in the cheekbone with a hand that’s coated in ice, and Izuku is thrown off of Todoroki, onto the ground.

Izuku looks up at him, spitting out a piece of fabric he’d ripped off with his teeth. Todoroki stalks toward him, a grimace on his face.

“I’m sorry about all of this,” Todoroki says, stretching out his right hand. “But I have to give you credit. I don’t think anyone expected you to last this long.” He waves his hand, summoning a thick ice wall, but Izuku knows what to expect. He crochet down, like he’s about to jump, just as the ice crystallized around him. It’s thinner, weaker than that first attack last time through, and Izuku hopes it’s because he’s started to tire Todoroki out and not because Todoroki is taking pity on him.

“If you’re so impressed by me,” Izuku grunts, tensing his muscles and ripping himself free from the ice. It cuts into his thighs, bruises against his shoulders, and rips skin and fabric off of his back in a sunburst of pain that makes Izuku see stars in his vision. “Then take me  _ seriously _ !” He shouts, stumbling out of the ice and seeing Todoroki’s wide eyes, his surprised stare. “Stop holding back!”

Todoroki grits his teeth, raising his hand again, but Izuku charges at him, throwing himself into Todoroki. He ignores the way Todoroki’s knee hits him in the arm, instead reaching to grab a handful of white hair, yanking on it. Todoroki grits his teeth, and Izuku feels the sharp pain of a punch to his ribs that makes him cough, sputtering. He looks down at the ground for just a second, and he sees blood there.  _ I’m bleeding more than I’d expected _ , he thinks as he looks up, yanking Todoroki’s head forward by his hair and kneeing him in the gut. There’s not a lot of momentum behind it, and Todoroki barely flinches.

“I’m  _ not _ ,” Todoroki hisses, and that makes Izuku growl, loud and angry.

“You  _ are! _ Use your fire and stop playing around!” Izuku smashes his head forward into Todoroki’s once again, his skull colliding with Todoroki’s already broken nose. “I might be weaker than you, but at least I’m taking this seriously!” Izuku hisses, letting go of Todoroki’s hair and dropping his hand, reaching for Todoroki’s neck. Todoroki bats his hand away, anger burning in his eyes.

“What makes you think this isn’t  _ serious _ for me?” Todoroki yells back at him, shooting a wave of ice that completely coats Izuku’s left arm. Izuku can’t bend his wrist or elbow, and the arm is nothing but a solid burning pain, but Izuku swings his arm like a club anyway, smashing the side of the frozen thing into Todoroki’s head. 

“Because if you took this seriously,” Izuku says, panting, “I’d have lost already!” He shouts, shoving at Todoroki. This close, none of his hits have the power he really wants them to have, and he keeps getting hurt, but it’s worth it for the look that spreads across Todoroki’s face.

“Fine,” Todoroki says, his left side erupting in flame. “I’ll give you what you want,” he hisses, and all Izuku sees before he loses consciousness is a wall of bright, orange fire.

\--

Izuku opens his eyes to a room with a white ceiling, neat tiles that repeat over and over again. He blinks in the light, pulling himself up into a sitting position and hissing when his head aches. 

Across from him, sitting in matching chairs. Uraraka and Tsuyu both startle, Uraraka almost jumping out of her chair. They’re in the infirmary wing of the arena, Izuku realizes, blinking. He looks down at himself, sees numerous white bandages wrapped over angry red burns and purpling bruises.

“Deku!” Uraraka says, leaning forward. “How are you feeling?”

Izuku blinks. “N-Not that bad, actually...” He’s surprised by it, but he’s also exhausted.  _ Recovery Girl must have already healed me _ , he realizes, glancing around. 

“Your match against Todoroki ended about twenty minutes ago, ribbit,” Tsuyu says, like she can tell what he’s thinking. “Recovery Girl said you could watch the finals, if you were feeling up to it.” Izuku nods, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and moving the blanket off of himself. He’s still in his sports uniform, he notes, but he may as well not be for the damage the outfit has taken. It’s in shreds on his arms and legs, and probably on his back, too. 

“She said you need to come back right after, though,” Uraraka says, a worried tone to her voice. “You’re pretty banged up...” 

Izuku nods. “I can tell,” he says, wincing as he stands up. Uraraka stands up, too, her chair squealing against the floor as it’s moved back by the motion. She holds her hands out, like she expects him to fall. Izuku doesn’t, although he notes absently that he feels detached from his body, from the whole situation. It’s a lot like when he lost last time, really. 

“I’m going to go call my mom,” he says, pushing past Uraraka and Tsuyu and walking towards the door. 

“W-Wait, Deku--” Uraraka puts a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Izuku nods. “I’m just kind of out of it,” he admits, giving her a small smile. “I’ll be okay. Meet you in the stands?”

Uraraka nods, smiling. “Okay! Text me if you need help with anything, okay?” Izuku nods at her, and he turns and leaves, this time without being stopped. 

It’s easy to slip into the janitor’s closet again. It’s easy to slit his wrists. He thinks bleeding out goes faster, too. As he waits, once again in the dark and the quiet, he wonders if he’ll wake up with just a headache or if it’ll be worse.

_ Either way _ , he thinks,  _ this is my last chance. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: dissociation and i think that's it
> 
> thank you for reading (as always!)! i really appreciate all of the support and feedback you guys give me, it means the world!!! 
> 
> come by our discord server if u dare ;) it's very fun and everyone is super sweet: https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt
> 
> btw, next chapter *should* be the last sports festival chapter! depending on how long it is, it may have to get split into two chapters tho lol


	21. sports festival, part 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku got todoroki to use his fire and then killed himself again lmao

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY GUYS!!! double update bc i have no self control. this arc will probably be 3 more chaps actually, including this one tho! i know a lot of ppl were confused as to why izuku reset, but i think it'll become more clear as the arc wraps up djfkghkdfj

Izuku opens his eyes to a wave of nausea that makes him drop his spoon, just like last time. He slaps a hand over his mouth, quickly standing up from his seat in the mess hall. He can see everyone looking at him, but it’s taking everything in him not to throw up right here, right now, so he ignores Uraraka shouting after him as he stands up quickly, knocking over his chair as he turns and runs from the building. 

He gets outside just in time to lean over into a bush, vomiting his just-eaten food into a bush beside the entrance to the mess hall. He gags on the taste, wrapping his hands around his stomach and squeezing his eyes shut as he retches, his stomach aching and burning. His head throbs, too, and Izuku peels one eye open to look at the vomit on the grass and leaves in front of him, relieved when he doesn’t see any blood. 

“Midoriya?” Aizawa’s voice isn’t a surprise to Izuku, and Izuku looks up, wincing as his head protests the movement. Aizawa is walking to stand beside him, a concerned look on his face as he stretches out a hand to feel Izuku’s forehead. 

“You’re running a fever,” Aizawa says, his lips twitching into a slight frown. “How long have you been feeling sick?” Izuku shakes his head, opening his mouth to reply. He’s interrupted by Uraraka’s voice as she comes running out of the mess hall and over to him.

“Deku, what happened?” She blinks, clearly taking in the scene. Izuku gives her a weak smile. “Oh no, are you sick?”

Izuku shakes his head. “I-I think I’m just nervous,” he replies. 

“Uraraka, go inside and get him some napkins and a bottle of water,” Aizawa orders, and Uraraka nods, running back into the mess hall. Aizawa sighs, looking Izuku over.

“Do you usually get nauseous like this when you’re nervous?” Aizawa asks, placing a hand on Izuku’s upper arm and carefully tugging him away from the bush and across the path to the other side of the building. Izuku lets him drag him over to the wall, and Izuku leans against it gratefully. His head is starting to feel a little better, but his stomach feels like a rock in his gut, a point of pain that pulses with his heart beating.

“Sometimes,” Izuku answers, taking a deep breath. He hears footsteps. 

“Here,” Uraraka says, softly. “Deku, how are you feeling?”

Izuku hums. “Better, I think.” He blinks his eyes open when he feels the scratchy surface of a napkin wipe along his jaw. He sees Aizawa, wiping his face clean with an impassive expression, one Izuku can’t read.

He pulls back, tossing the napkin in a nearby garbage can that flanks the door to the mess hall, then takes another napkin and pours a small amount of water on it. Izuku lets him set a gentle hand on Izuku’s cheek, turning his face up slightly so that Aizawa can wipe his face with the cool, clean napkin. Izuku swallows, shutting his eyes for just a second. He feels like a child, but he doesn’t protest. Aizawa pulls back, and Izuku opens his eyes again.

“Drink,” Aizawa orders, passing Izuku the opened bottle of water. Izuku complies, sipping at the water. It soothes his throat where it feels raspy and raw, and it feels cool and nice in his stomach. Izuku sighs, pulling the bottle away from his lips when it’s about half empty. Aizawa is staring at him, an assessing look on his face, and Izuku can see Uraraka hovering anxiously behind him.

“I feel better,” he says, and it’s not a complete lie. He can feel that pounding headache and the sharp stomach ache, still, but he doesn’t feel like he did on that final try at the USJ. He thinks he could fight, even, as long as he pushes the pain aside. 

“Do you think it’s a good idea for you to continue on in today’s events?” Aizawa asks, making eye contact with him. “I’m trusting you to be honest with me here. If you don’t think you can safely participate, nobody will think poorly of you.”

Izuku shakes his head. “I’m going to participate,” he says firmly, meeting Aizawa’s gaze. “I’m going to fight, and I’m going to do well.” He isn’t going to lose, not to Todoroki. He can’t lose to him, not with how hard he’s worked.  _ I can’t be satisfied just making him use his fire because he’s angry _ , he thinks, the thought he’d had since their last match.  _ I need to beat him. _

Aizawa tips his head slightly. “You’re awfully confident,” he says, reaching into his pocket and holding out a brightly colored packet with a spout on the top. “Here. It’ll give you energy, but shouldn’t upset your stomach.”

“T-Thanks,” Izuku says, blinking and taking the jelly pouch. He looks back up at his teacher. “Have the matches been announced yet?”

“They have,” Uraraka says from behind Aizawa. “Are you sure it’s a good idea for you to fight, though? You just threw up...”

“I’m okay,” Izuku says, smiling at her. “Let me see the bracket,” he says, and Aizawa steps aside so that Uraraka can show him her phone. Izuku blinks, then smiles. 

“I’m against Shinsou first,” Izuku says, meeting her eyes. 

“Isn’t that the kid with the purple hair you teamed up with last round?” She tips her head slightly, and Izuku nods. He sees Aizawa’s face shift slightly from where he’s still watching Izuku, and Izuku looks over at him. 

“Sensei, I don’t think I’ll need to fight dirty to win the first round,” Izuku says., twisting open the jelly pouch and smiling. “But I won’t hesitate to if I need to.”

Aizawa raises an eyebrow at him. “Okay.” He narrows his eyes slightly at Izuku, but Izuku just pops the opening of the jelly pouch in his mouth and slorps loudly at him, still smiling. His stomach hurts and so does his head, but he thinks he can do it, this time. He has to.

\--

Izuku feels kind of bad when he steps into the ring with Shinsou, because he’s pretty sure that in one of the earlier rounds, Shinsou had actually made it to the semifinals. To be fair, Izuku is having a hard time remembering, what with how many fights he’s heard about at this point. It’s as bright as always on the field, and the light stings Izuku’s eyes slightly, worsening his headache. He swallows, the lingering taste of strawberry jelly in his mouth. 

“For this match, we have two teammates from the cavalry battle! It’s Hitoshi Shinsou of general studies up against Izuku Midoriya of the hero course’s class 1-A! This is sure to be an interesting match to watch, considering these two were part of the surprise third place steal last round.” Present Mic laughs, and Izuku sighs internally.  _ It won’t be interesting _ , Izuku thinks _ , because I’m the worst possible match-up for Shinsou right now.  _

“I knew I shouldn’t have worked with you,” Shinsou says, venom in his voice. “You were deadweight in the cavalry battle, anyway.” Izuku doesn’t reply, just takes a deep breath. 

“Ready?” Present Mic, same as always, calls for them to prepare. Izuku settles into a fighting stance, and Shinsou crosses his arms over his chest.

“Start!” Present Mic calls, and Izuku ducks forward, aiming a punch at Shinsou’s chest. It contacts strongly, striking Shinsou hard and causing him to grimace.

“Is that how this is going to go?” Shinsou asks, stepping into a poor copy of Izuku’s stance. “You’re going to pretend you haven’t taken advantage of me? That you didn’t team up with me just to learn how my quirk works to screw me over later?” Shinsou throws a punch of his own at Izuku, but compared to training with Aizawa, it’s laughably slow. Izuku ducks under it, using the opening to hit Shinsou with an elbow to the ribs. 

“God, I’m going to lose to a fucking quirkless person, aren’t I?” Shinsou says, voice strained as he moves away from Izuku. “What an embarrassment. I don’t think they should allow people with your  _ condition _ to compete at all. It’s not like you’ll be able to be a hero.” 

Izuku bites down on his tongue, stopping himself from replying because even though he  _ knows _ Shinsou is just trying to get on his nerves, it still  _ hurts _ . Izuku steps back for a second, sliding forward to throw a kick that makes Shinsou lose his balance. He’s smart enough to step to the side instead of back, at least, avoiding stepping over the tape. 

“Why do  _ you _ get to be in the hero course?” Shinsou spits, stepping forward and punching at Izuku’s face. “Why are you so special? You’re  _ quirkless _ !” Izuku dodges the punch, grimacing at the look on Shinsou’s face.

“What is it that makes it so you get this?” Shinsou gestures at him, a desperate look on his face. “What’s so fucking special about you? Why are you so important? I don’t  _ get  _ it. Even the stupid monkey and the glittery guy teamed up with you, and for what?” Izuku knees Shinsou in the gut for that one, and he doesn’t feel that bad when he hears Shinsou gag on impact. 

“Why do they care about you?” Shinsou asks, panting. Izuku can hear the  _ pain _ in Shinsou’s voice, and it breaks his heart.  _ I need to end this, _ he thinks, grabbing ahold of Shinsou’s shirt and flipping him over a shoulder, just like he did with Monoma. It’s easier, with Shinsou. Izuku winces in sympathy as Shinsou strikes the ground, out of bounds. 

“Shinsou is out of the ring!” Present Mic shouts. “Midoriya wins!” The crowd erupts in cheers. Izuku takes a deep, steadying breath, then offers a hand to Shinsou. 

“It’s not me,” he answers, his hand steady even as Shinsou’s breath hitches sharply. “They’re the ones who are special. They’re nice to me because they’re just that good.” Shinsou snorts, slapping his hand away and sitting up, looking away from him. 

“Then why you?” he asks, so quietly that Izuku doesn’t think he’s supposed to hear. “Why you and not me?” Izuku swallows the lump rising in his throat, trying to find the words to say to Shinsou as he stands and stalks towards his tunnel, shoulders hunched. Izuku stares after him, feeling lost.

“Midoriya.” Izuku turns to see Aizawa waiting for him, hands in his pockets. “How are you feeling?” He jerks his head to the tunnel, then starts to walk. Izuku follows him. 

“F-Fine,” Izuku replies. He watches his teacher’s back. “Sensei, Shinsou, he--”

“I know,” Aizawa replies. “The entrance exam is highly illogical,” he says as they step into the shadow of the tunnel. “It results in a number of students with high potential being overlooked. Shinsou is one of those cases.” 

“It’s not fair,” Izuku mutters, kicking at the ground. “He’s right. He deserves to be in the hero course more than I do.” 

“I wouldn’t say that,” Aizawa says, opening the door into the building and holding it open for Izuku, looking back at him with an arched brow. “It’s certainly unfair, but the practical exam was also biased against you,” he says as Izuku steps through the door into the cool air-conditioned hallway. “You earned your place in class 1-A.” Izuku stops in the hall, watching as Aizawa walks in after him.

“That doesn’t help Shinsou any, though...” Izuku says, twisting his hands together. “I just--It’s not right.”

Aizawa blinks, slow and even. “It isn’t. But general studies students can transfer into the heroics course, if they make a good enough impression during the sports festival,” he says, tilting his head slightly to the side. “Shinsou has, at the very least, caught my attention.”

Izuku blinks. “He’s going to be in our class?” he asks, a smile tugging at his lips. Aizawa sighs, turning and continuing down the hallway.

“That’s not what I said. You need to eat something before your next match.” he says, and Izuku scrambles after him. “You’ll be up against Yaoyorozu.”

\--

The tunnel is quiet, this time, and Izuku is alone with his thoughts. Aizawa had pushed another jelly pouch and a bottle of water at him before disappearing, and Izuku’s pretty sure he went to talk to Shinsou, judging by their conversation from before. Izuku’s stomach has settled a bit, and he doesn’t feel like he might throw up, but he can still feel it like a rock in his belly. His head is aching, too, but only when he moves. All things considered, it’s something he can handle.

His stomach doesn’t hurt as badly as his skin has before, when he was in middle school and Kacchan had burned him. His head doesn’t ache quite as badly as it did when he got a concussion as Ace, fighting on the streets. He clenches his hands into fists.  _ This is a battle I can win, _ he thinks to himself, staring out onto the field.  _ This is something I  _ have _ to win, if I want to beat Todoroki. _

He steps out into the field, the familiar sounds of the audience’s chatter as he steps into the ring. Yaoyorozu steps out of her tunnel just as he steps into place, and she looks nervous as she takes her place, facing him.

“Good luck, Midoriya,” she whispers, smiling faintly at him. Izuku returns the grin.

“You too, Yaoyorozu,” he replies, and she nods. 

“For our next match,” Present Mic says, just like always, “We have two students from class 1-A! Izuku Midoriya will be facing off against Momo Yaoyorozu. These two both did exceedingly well in their first matches, so I’m excited to see them face off against each other. Ready?” Izuku slides into his familiar fighting stance, and across from him, Yaoyorozu does the same. 

“Start!” Present Mic shouts, and Izuku slides forward before Yaoyorozu has a chance to use her quirk.  _ This might be the only chance I get _ , he thinks as he swings forward a strong knee strike that Yaoyorozu barely manages to block before she jumps back, running to the side as her quirk sparks and ripples along her arm as she starts to pull out a long metal rod. Izuku grits his teeth and pivots on his foot, spinning his leg around to sweep at her feet as she moves. She stumbles for a second, catching herself with her newly made staff just as Izuku lurches forward and punches her in the jaw. 

“Sorry,” he grits out between his teeth as she swings down, her staff contacting his forearms with a painful clang as he blocks the shot. The metal is hard and solid, not hollow, and Izuku notes that it’s got to be heavy. Yaoyorozu turns it, swinging at Izuku’s legs, and Izuku realizes she’s not trained to fight with it, not like some of the people he’s seen on the internet are. Izuku easily slides out of the way of her low strike.

Izuku twists, launching a kick that hits right where Yaoyorozu’s right hand is on the staff, where her fingers wrap around the metal. The force of it is enough that it stings Izuku’s foot even through his shoe, and he winces in sympathy as Yaoyorozu yelps, stepping back and dropping the staff. Izuku can see that her right hand is red and her middle and index fingers are bent strangely, and he grimaces, stepping back for a second. She doesn’t wait, though, reaching with her left arm to pull something out of her arm, a long, thin blade with a grippy handle. Izuku grins.

“A knife?” He asks as she holds it up, leveling it at him.

“A knife,” she confirms, moving into a fighting stance. Izuku copies her, his eyes darting to the staff on the ground. She must catch his gaze, though, because she kicks it, sending it skittering out of bounds before he can even plan his move to grab it. 

“Smart,” he says, giving her a smile, and she returns it before stepping forward at him, swiping the knife through the air. Izuku leans back, out of her range, then slides in as she moves her hand back. He whips a back fist out, hitting the inside of her wrist, and the knife goes clattering to the ground. 

He moves quicker, this time, twisting out of the way of Yaoyorozu’s kick as he rolls on his shoulder, grabbing the knife as he somersaults across the ring. He hops to his feet with the knife in hand, glancing at the tape just behind him. He moves forward, just as Yaoyorozu pulls another, longer knife from her arm, holding it up and gritting her teeth at him. Izuku steps back, into the range he’s trained at, but it doesn’t seem Yaoyorozu has the same training, because she steps forward before she swipes at him.

Izuku sees the swipe coming, and it’s weeks of training with Aizawa that move his arm, his knife hand darting forward to slice along the back of Yaoyorozu’s hand before he can think about it. She drops the knife, a spray of blood coming from her hand, but the worst part is the way she screams, reeling back and holding her bleeding hand with her broken one. Izuku steps back, his eyes wide and hands shaking as he watches her cradle her hand. He can see the bones in the back of her hand through the cut, can see the way her flesh hangs off of her skin. The audience murmurs around them. 

“I-I...” Yaoyorozu swallows visibly, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I give up,” she sobs, and Izuku drops his knife, stepping toward her. She flinches back as he reaches out, and Izuku jerks back. 

“I-I’m sorry,” Izuku says, but Yaoyorozu turns away from him. Aizawa comes from behind her, setting a hand on her shoulder and leading her toward the tunnel she came from. He gives Izuku a meaningful glance, and Izuku blinks before following after them.

Yaoyorozu doesn’t say anything, just stares at her hand as Aizawa leads her into the shade of the tunnel. Izuku can hear his own heart beating, hard and fast in his throat as he follows them. Aizawa glances back at him every so often, so Izuku knows that he knows he’s following, but his teacher doesn’t say anything. Izuku darts forward when they get to the door, pushing it open for them and stepping inside to hold it open. As Yaoyorozu steps forward into the light of the hallway, she looks at him, blinking tears out of her eyes.

“It’s okay, Midoriya,” she says, hiccuping. “It’s my fault for underestimating you.” 

Izuku shakes his head. “I went too far,” he says, following them again as Aizawa grabs Yaoyorozu’s shoulder and steers her along, towards where Izuku knows the infirmary is. 

Recovery Girl opens the door for them when they get there, holding it open for them with a grim look on her face. Izuku watches the way her gaze sticks to Yaoyorozu’s hand as they walk in, just like Izuku’s gaze keeps sticking on the trail of blood going down the hallway.  _ I did that _ , he thinks as they walk into the infirmary. 

“You two, wait out here,” Recovery Girl orders before ushering Yaoyorozu into a room and shutting the door behind them. Izuku feels like things are moving more quickly than they should, like his brain is skipping beats. He covers his mouth with a hand as a wave of nausea rises in his throat, and he barely makes it to the tiny trash can by the door before he’s throwing up again, knees on the hard tile as he retches. He hears Aizawa sigh above him. 

“Are you still feeling sick, or is this from what just happened?” Aizawa asks, and when Izuku looks up to him, he’s holding out a handful of tissues. Izuku takes them, wiping his face clean. 

“Both,” Izuku says, grimacing at the taste in his mouth with he drops the tissues into the garbage can. “What if she--”

“Don’t,” Aizawa cuts him off. “There’s no point in wondering until we know. You did exactly what someone should in a knife fight. These tournaments are  _ dangerous _ . Everyone knows that. You knowing how to use a knife isn’t any different from others having quirks.” Aizawa meets Izuku’s gaze as he straightens up.

“I know,” Izuku sighs. “But if I hurt her for real, I...” He shakes his head, biting his lip.  _ I’ll have to reset, if that happens _ , he thinks,  _ but I don’t think I’ll be able to keep going. I don’t think I can compete if I reset again. But I can't do that to her, not just so that I can win... I can’t be the reason someone else can’t fight. _

“Midoriya,” Aizawa says sharply, and Izuku looks up at him. “Stop thinking about it.” He grabs the sleeve of Izuku’s uniform and drags him the short distance to a row of chairs against the wall, tugging him down until he sits. Aizawa sits in the chair next to him, and Izuku forces himself to take a deep breath as he grips onto his knees, digging his fingers into his flesh. He can see the way his knuckles go white, can feel the pain in his knees from it. Aizawa swats at his hands, not touching them but coming close.

“Stop that,” he orders, and Izuku relaxes his fingers, instead clenching his hands into fists. He can feel Aizawa’s gaze on the back of his neck, prickling his skin. Izuku thinks he might throw up again. 

The door Yaoyorozu and Recovery Girl went through opens with a soft click, and Izuku whips his head up to see Recovery Girl peeking out, an unreadable expression on her face. 

“You two can come in,” she says. “She wants to talk to you, Midoriya.” Recovery Girl opens the door further, stepping out of the doorway and walking to her desk, her cane clacking on the tile. She stops, glancing over at Izuku. 

“Oh, and before you go, I want to look you over,” she says, settling into her chair. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you throwing up, young man.” Izuku nods, his face flushing slightly, and he stands up at the same time as Aizawa. Izuku wants to push past him, to get to the door first, but Aizawa is in his way, walking slow and calm to the door. Izuku follows, and he can’t even see Yaoyorozu around his teacher for a second. He wants to scream.

“Midoriya?” Yaoyorozu says as Izuku finally, finally sees her, and he holds his breath, gaze catching on her hands. The one that had been broken is tinted yellow with half-healed bruising, and the other is swathed in white bandages, resting on an ice pack on her lap. Yaoyorozu looks tired, her hair coming loose from her ponytail in places, but she smiles at him. 

“A-Are you,” Izuku swallows. “Is your hand okay? I-I’m so sorry, Yao--”

“It’s completely fine,” she says, tipping her head slightly to the side and smiling. “Recovery Girl chewed me out for making a knife when I didn’t know whether or not my opponent was proficient in them, but other than my pride, I’m completely okay.” She looks down at her lap. “I really should be apologizing to you,” she says, and Izuku blinks.

“Why?” he asks, shaking his head. “I-I hurt you,” he says, gesturing to her hand. She meets his gaze, face turning serious.

“I didn’t take that fight as seriously as you did,” she says, staring into his eyes. “It was both irresponsible of me and rude to you.” She holds up her bandaged hand. “You’re going to be an amazing hero, Midoriya. We were fighting, and when you hurt me, your first instinct was to make sure I was okay.” She looks at him, a determined smile on her face. “You are an inspiration for me to work harder, Midoriya.” 

Izuku blinks, his gaze dropping to her hand. “You’re really okay?” He asks, voice small. She nods, smiling still. 

“I’m really okay,” she says, and Izuku breathes a sigh of relief. 

“That was very mature of you,” Aizawa says, and Izuku sees him nod to Yaoyorozu. “Recovery Girl was right, by the way. You should always be cognizant of the fact that anything you make can be used by your opponent.”

Yaoyorozu nods, looking sheepish. “I know, it was stupid of me.” 

“Midoriya,” Aizawa says, looking to him. Izuku jumps a little, looking up at him. 

“Y-Yes?” He chirps, hating the way his voice breaks a little. 

“You did good, and Yaoyorozu is fine. She’s told you she’s fine. Stop beating yourself up over it.” Aizawa reaches out, setting a hand on the top of Izuku’s head. “Got it?”

Izuku nods. “G-Got it!” he replies, face turning red. Yaoyorozu giggles, her laugh barely concealed behind her hand, and Izuku finds himself glad that he doesn’t have to reset and lose this moment. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: vomiting, implied canon child abuse
> 
> THANK YOU FOR READING!!! and thank you all SO much for the support it means the world to me!!
> 
> discord link for yall: https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt


	22. sports festival, part 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku defeats shinsou and yaomomo in the first two rounds of the tournament

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEYO!! im excited for this chapter and the next one! next chapter will for sure be the last one of this arc, and then it's onto the next! i know some of you have been frustrated with either me or izuku during this arc, and i just hope it's a good sort of frustration!! i know that sometimes i write stuff that's a little stupid, and i apologize if it takes away from the story!!
> 
> enjoy <3

Izuku stands in the tunnel, waiting for his fight with Todoroki for the third time. It’s strange, being here, and knowing what only he knows. Knowing which buttons he can press to piss Todoroki off and make him use his fire, but not what to say to  _ help _ him, not what to do to  _ win _ . It’s nice, though, not having to go through another fight in order to face Todoroki. Izuku doesn’t know if he’d make it through the semifinals if it wasn’t Todoroki; he thinks he’s been lucky to survive this far. 

Izuku isn’t sure if he’s surprised or not, when Endeavor steps into his tunnel this time, instead of Todoroki’s. The man is bright like a torch, even more so up close, and it takes a lot of Izuku’s energy to not make a rude face at him as he walks up to Izuku. The crackling of his fire is loud in the relative quiet of the tunnel.

“Midoriya, right?” Endeavor asks, his voice low and rough. “I must say, I found your performance in your last fight quite impressive.” It’s painful to look at him, with how bright his fire is burning. 

“T-Thank you,” Izuku replies, looking down at the dirt below him instead. The shadows warp strangely in the flickering light. 

“I have something to ask you,” Endeavor says. “How do you expect to become a hero, quirkless like you are?” Izuku’s head shoots up, and he searches Endeavor’s face for malice, for a mocking look or a twist of disdain, but there’s just disbelief. Confusion. Like Endeavor doesn’t mean to be rude, like he just simply can’t fathom the idea of Izuku, quirkless, being a hero. 

“I don’t  _ expect _ to,” Izuku replies, meeting Endeavor’s teal gaze. “I just will. There’s no other future for me,” he says, watching Endeavor’s face twitch. “I’m going to be a hero, or I’ll die trying.” His lips quirk up at the end, into a bitter smile, because he  _ has _ , already. 

“Hmm,” Endeavor grunts. “I wish my son took this as seriously as you did.”

Izuku feels his face twitch. “What do you mean?” he asks, before he can talk himself out of it. 

“Shouto doesn’t take his role seriously. If he’s going to be number one, then he needs to--” Endeavor starts to say, but Izuku cuts him off.

“He takes this more seriously than you think, Endeavor.” Izuku grits his teeth, blenching his hands into fists at his sides. “And with all due respect, if your son gets to be number one, it’s not  _ your _ accomplishment. It’s  _ his _ .”

“If Shouto wins, it will be because of my training,” Endeavor says, his brows twitching in anger. He opens his mouth again, but Izuku starts speaking. 

“If he wins, it will be  _ despite _ you,” Izuku growls, “not because of you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a fight to win.” Izuku turns on his heels, walking out into the sunlight before he has a chance to process what he just said. 

Todoroki looks angry, still, when he walks out into the sun, and Izuku can tell from the angle of his eyes that he’s looking behind Izuku, to where Endeavor must still be lurking. 

“Don’t look at him,” Izuku growls, and Todoroki’s eyes snap to his, anger still on his face, mixing with confusion. “You’re fighting  _ me _ .” 

Todoroki tilts his head slightly, lips thinning into a frown. “What did he say to you?” he asks, voice low.

“For the first match of the semifinals, we have two class 1-A hero course students,” Present Mic says in the background. Izuku ignores him.

“Nothing important,” Izuku replies, keeping his eyes on Todoroki’s. 

“Shouto Todoroki and Izuku Midoriya will be facing off for a spot in the finals. I’m sure you’re all familiar with these two by now, so I’ll skip the introductions,” Izuku knows what’s coming next. It’s not hard for him to focus on the pain in his stomach for a moment, and he feels himself grow pale. He makes a show of blinking rapidly, reaching a hand up to rest on his forehead. He sees Todoroki blink in surprise. 

“Ready?” Izuku flutters his eyes, rolling them back in his head.

“Start!” Izuku drops to his knees, then to the ground, and he hears that same gasp from the audience, the grit of the ground under Todoroki’s sneaker.

“Midoriya?!” he shouts, and Izuku can tell he’s right there. Izuku opens his eyes, grabbing the front of Todoroki’s shirt and pulling him in, his face centimeters from Izuku’s.

“Sorry, Todoroki,” Izuku says, punching him in the gut. Todoroki hisses, his breath hitting Izuku’s face. “We both know I don’t stand a chance against you in a fair fight.” Todoroki pulls back as much as Izuku lets him, his lips turned in a snarl. 

“Did he pay you to do this?” Todoroki spits, anger flashing through his features.

“Are you kidding me?” Izuku asks, pulling himself to his feet using his grip on Todoroki’s uniform front. “All he did was piss me off,” he says, cocking his shoulder back for a second before throwing an elbow strike that Todoroki dodges. It breaks Izuku’s grip on Todoroki’s shirt, and Todoroki tries to slide back, but Izuku keeps close. He dodges the punch Todoroki tries to aim at his stomach.  _ I’m used to his fighting style _ , Izuku realizes as he blocks a knee strike.  _ This is easier than last time _ . 

Todoroki growls, and Izuku feels the creep of ice up his left arm as he tackles Todoroki, throwing them both to the ground and out of the way of the wall of ice that grows and swells behind them. Todoroki is under Izuku for just a second, and Izuku takes advantage of it, punching Todoroki in the face as he pushes Izuku off of him. Izuku lands awkwardly on the ground, but he has a moment to gather himself as Todoroki winces, a hand coming to his nose.  _ I guess it’s inevitable that he ends up with a bloody nose _ , Izuku thinks as he lurches to his feet. Todoroki stands up across from him, a dangerous glint in his eye. 

Todoroki raises his right hand, a swath of blue ice rippling across the field. Izuku grits his teeth, jumping into the air as the ground under his feet freezes into ice spikes, and he lands awkwardly, the ice still growing around him. He can feel his ankle roll, can feel the ice slicing the skin around his ankles, but he ignores the pain, trying to yank his feet free. They’re embedded, though, and Izuku bites his lip.

“You talk a big game,” Todoroki says, walking toward him with his right hand still outstretched, frost gathered on his fingertips. “But you don’t actually stand a chance against me. It’s impressive you’ve lasted as long as you have.” Izuku grits his teeth, pulling his injured foot out of his shoe and out of the ice. He steps onto the jagged, icy ground, ignoring the discomfort, and rips his other foot out of its shoe. 

“Want to bet?” Izuku says, settling into a fighting stance in his bare feet. Todoroki watches him, face impassive. A trickle of blood runs from his nose, gathering on his lip. “You’re the one bleeding, Todoroki.” Izuku grins as Todoroki’s eyes narrow, and Izuku darts forward as Todoroki starts to use his quirk again, ice gathering on the ground as Izuku runs. The ice pulls the skin off from the bottoms of his feet, but he runs anyway. He throws a punch at Todoroki’s face, one that the other boy easily blocks, but Izuku doesn’t stop, knocking his head forward into Todoroki’s nose, just like last time. He hears Todoroki’s breath hitch in surprise and pain, and Izuku reels back just enough to meet Todoroki’s eyes. 

“I’m giving this everything I’ve got. Why aren’t you?” He asks, and he knows he doesn't need to elaborate. Todoroki’s eyes narrow into a glare as he steps back, moving away from Izuku. Izuku lets him. 

“I’m going to win without using his quirk,” Todoroki says, raising his hand and summoning a mass of ice that charges at Izuku, fast. “By rising to the top without using it, I’ll have denied him everything.”

Izuku growls, dodging to the side and ignoring the way a spike of ice slashes into his side, hot blood flowing from the wound as he runs at Todoroki again. Todoroki looks surprised, almost, and Izuku can see the shivers running up his arms.  _ It’s time _ , he thinks.  _ I might lose again, but it’s time _ .

“You’re not your father!” Izuku screams, throat raw. Todoroki blinks, stepping back and clenching his hands into fists at his sides. “And you’re not your quirks! You’re a  _ person _ .” Izuku raises his right hand in front of him, his fist shaking from exertion as he holds it up-- a challenge. Todoroki grits his teeth, rushing forward, but Izuku dodges easily, shoving Todoroki away with an elbow. The ice that creeps up his arm stings, but Izuku ignores it.

“I’m not going to use his power,” Todoroki hisses, shaking his head. “I’m not going to be like him.” Izuku reaches forward, grabbing the front of Todoroki’s shirt again, and Todoroki flinches back. Izuku keeps his grip on the fabric, though, and he can feel the way Todoroki is shaking.

“It’s not his power, Todoroki, it’s  _ yours _ . The only person you’re hurting right now is yourself.” Izuku takes a deep breath, staring into Todoroki’s wide eyes. 

“Use your fire,” Izuku says, lips quirking up into a smile. “ _ Your _ fire. Not his.” He squeezes his hand where it’s twisted up in the fabric of Todoroki’s shirt. Todoroki shoves him away, and Izuku doesn’t have the strength to react, letting himself be shoved a few steps back. Todoroki takes a deep breath, and orange flames erupt from his left side, burning away the thin frost that had gathered on his skin. Izuku has to blink against the bright glow, his face stinging from the heat. 

“Why are you doing this?” Todoroki asks, barely visible through the fire. “Don’t you want to win, too? Why are you trying to help me?”

Izuku grins. “Isn’t that what heroes do?” He asks, and he sees Todoroki’s lips crack into a smile. 

“Yeah,” he says, smile audible in his voice. “I want to be a hero too,” He raises his left hand, fire crackling around it. “I’m not responsible for what happens to you next.”

Izuku laughs, stepping forward. “What do you mean?” he asks, flames rising around him. “I’m still going to win,” he says, flinging himself directly into Todoroki’s blast, the fire whipping around him, hot and burning. Izuku can feel his skin bubbling up, peeling off, but he moves forward anyway.  _ I have to do this before I lose consciousness _ , he thinks, twisting back and throwing the strongest punch he can. His knuckles collide with Todoroki’s jaw, hard, and Izuku can only hope it was enough.

He feels the flames fall around him, but he can’t see, and it takes hima moment to realize that he’d shut his eyes, at some point. There’s a roaring in his ears that he thinks might be the audience, but he can’t tell if they’re cheering for him or Todoroki. Izuku tries to take a step, tries to move, but shifting his weight is enough to make him stumble. He cracks an eye open to see the sky above him as he falls, his head knocking against the hard ground with a crack before he loses himself to darkness.

\--

Izuku opens his eyes to the familiar sight of the infirmary’s ceiling. He stares at the white tile for just a moment before sighing, pressing his eyes shut again. The realization settles into his stomach like cement, a slow, painful knowledge. His head hurts, and he can feel tears starting to fill his eyes.

“Deku?” Uraraka’s voice makes Izuku blink his eyes open again, turning his head to see her sitting at his bedside, Todoroki and Yaoyorozu beside her. Izuku blinks the tears out of his eyes, sitting up.

“You’re awake,” Todoroki says, his expression unreadable. There’s a dark bruise on the underside of his jaw, a purple and blue mark where Izuku must have hit him. His nose is mostly healed, with a yellowing edge to the bruise. The blood has been wiped away. Izuku looks at him, bites his lip.

“I lost to you again,” he says, unable to keep the sadness out of his voice. Todoroki tilts his head slightly, his right brow raising the tiniest bit.

“Again?” He shakes his head. “You won, Midoriya.” He looks down, and Izuku follows his gaze to where Izuku’s hand rests on the bedspread. Izuku can see healing bruises and burns there, his skin shiny and red, like a bad sunburn. 

“I won?” he asks, his voice sounding small. He takes a moment to look over himself. He’s wearing scrubs, something Recovery Girl must have given him, and he’s wrapped up in bandages. He can feel his burns, can feel where the skin has been taken off the bottoms of his feet, but when he presses a hand into his side, the cut there is mostly healed, and he feels better than he should, all things considered.

“Yeah!” Uraraka pipes up, a bright grin on her face. “You knocked him out all like,” she mimes a punch in the air, “and then you stood there all burnt and stuff and just like, stared up at the sky and passed out.” She looks at him, her smile dropping into something softer. “You worried all of us up in the stands, you know.”

“S-Sorry,” Izuku says, blinking and glancing around the room. “How long have I--”

“Not long,” Yaoyorozu says. “Recovery Girl wanted to wait until you’d woken up to finish healing you. I can go get her now, if you want?” She tips her head.

Izuku nods. “Yes, please!” He replies, smiling at her. Yaoyorozu nods, standing up from her seat and brushing off the front of her uniform before turning and opening the door, stepping into the next room.

“Did I really win?” he asks, looking down at his hands. It feels unreal, after all of these tries. Like a joke.

“Yup,” Uraraka says. “You’ve still got the finals, though.” Izuku looks up at her. 

“Has the other semifinal happened yet?” he asks, anxiety and excitement mixing in his throat. “Who is it between?”

“You haven’t been paying attention to that?” Todoroki asks, tipping his head slightly to the side. “It hasn’t started yet, no. They had to repair the field after our fight.” He smiles faintly, looking down at his hands. “It’s between Monoma and Bakugou, by the way.” 

Izuku blinks, because he knows how that fight goes. “Oh,” he says, just as there’s a knock at the door. Izuku startles, turning to see Recovery Girl stepping inside, Yaoyorozu close behind her. 

“Now,” Recovery Girl says, walking up to Izuku’s bed. “How are you feeling, young man?” Uraraka and Todoroki scoot their chairs to the side, letting Recovery Girl get right up to his bedside. Izuku gives her a polite smile. 

“Much better, thank you!” He chirps, and she tsks at him. 

“If this is your idea of much better, your pain tolerance is something else, sonny.” She sighs, leaning forward and kissing him on the forehead. He feels a layer of pain evaporate from his body, and he sighs in relief, even as the thick exhaustion sets in. 

“Thank you,” he breathes, and she hums in acknowledgement.

“You’ll need to rest and eat before your next match,” she says, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a handful of brightly colored gummies. “Eat these, and a full meal if you can stomach it. I haven’t forgotten that you’ve been doing this all while sick.” Izuku feels his face flush red.

“You’re sick?” Todoroki asks, blinking, and Izuku shrugs. 

“N-Not really,” he says, and Uraraka snorts from her spot beside Recovery Girl.

“Deku threw up after lunch,” she says, a mixture of exasperation and worry in her voice. “And he still wanted to compete, so Aizawa-sensei let him.”

“After your final match, I want to see you back here,” Recovery Girl says, leveling him with a stare. “Although I wouldn’t be surprised if you ended up being carried back here, considering what happened last round.” She shakes her hand, still holding the gummies, and Izuku flushes red, cupping his hands and taking them from her.

“Can he watch the other semifinal?” Uraraka asks, and Recovery Girl turns to look at her.

“Of course, dearie. Just make sure he eats and doesn’t jump around. He’ll want his stamina.” She turns to look at Todoroki, next. “Will you let me heal the rest of that, now?”

Todoroki nods, looking down at the ground, and Recovery Girl smooches him too. Izuku watches the bruises evaporate off of his face in awe. Watching Recovery Girl’s quirk in action is always impressive. 

“Why didn’t you get it healed before?” Izuku asks, the words out of his mouth before he can think better of it. Todoroki blinks up at him, but it’s Uraraka answers for him with a laugh.

“He wanted to be here when you woke up!” She chirps, giggling. “Isn’t that sweet?”

“I’m the one who injured him,” Todoroki says, his tone defensive. “It’s only fair.” His cheeks are tinted slightly red, though, and when Uraraka laughs, Izuku joins in. 

\--

Izuku settles into his seat in the stands, his new sports uniform feeling soft and clean against his skin. Recovery Girl had given it to him to change into, and it’s nice to be in something new after all of these fights and resets, even if it is identical to the last one. He’s glad she’d given him a long sleeved one, too, although he supposes she probably saw his scars. He’s not really sure; the burns might have hidden them. When he was changing, he’d struggled to find them on his skin, so maybe she hadn’t noticed. 

Uraraka plops into the seat next to him, juggling two large containers of popcorn. The salty, buttery smell drifts towards Izuku’s nose, and he flushes red when his stomach grumbles loudly.

“Hungry?” Uraraka asks, giggling. “This one’s for you, since RG said you need to eat,” she says, passing him one of the containers. The outside of the paper bag is warm, the heat seeping through the material into Izuku’s fingers.

“RG?” He asks, sticking a piece of popcorn in his mouth. It melts on his tongue, delicious in the way things only are when he’s really, really hungry. 

“Recovery Girl, duh!” Uraraka says, grinning. Izuku looks up past her as he sees Todoroki picking his way down the aisle. He stops in front of Uraraka and Izuku, staring. 

“Hey, Todoroki!” Izuku smiles. “Did you want to sit with us?”

Todoroki blinks. “Yes,” he says, walking past Uraraka and Izuku to sit on Izuku’s other side. He sits in the chair gingerly. Izuku wonders how someone so powerful can be nervous about something like this. 

“This should be easy for Bakugou,” Uraraka comments as Izuku angles his bag of popcorn, offering some to Todoroki. Todoroki shakes his head no, and Izuku hums, looking over at Uraraka.

“I don’t know,” he says, trying to sound like he hasn’t seen the fight before. “Monoma’s quirk lets him copy others’ quirks, right? Kacchan’s quirk will be useful in one on one combat like this, even if Monoma isn’t used to it.” He bites at the skin of his lip, ripping off a small piece of it as he glances down at the field. Neither Kacchan nor Monoma are visible right now, and Izuku would guess they’re waiting in the tunnels.

“Well, I’m rooting for Monoma,” Uraraka says, leaning back in her seat and propping her feet up on the seat in front of her. “I want you to win, Deku, and no offense, but Bakugou is basically the worst possible match for you.”

Izuku laughs nervously. “I-I want Kacchan to win,” he admits. “I don’t know if I want to fight him, though.”

“I think you’d beat Bakugou,” Todoroki says, serious. “You’re both skilled at hand to hand, but he relies on his quirk, and in battle training you proved that you know his fighting style well.” He pauses. “You knew mine, too. Did you review the tapes in preparation?”

Izuku blinks. “I, um.” He swallows nervously. “I-I didn’t really know your style, I-I just guessed I think!” He shoves a handful of popcorn in his mouth, hoping it’ll keep him from saying anything stupid. 

“Your battle instincts are impressive, then,” Todoroki says, still looking at him. Izuku feels his face turning red, and he smiles at Todoroki with his teeth covered, still chewing on his mouthful of food.

“Look,” Uraraka breathes. “They’re starting.” Izuku whips his head, watching as Monoma and Kacchan step onto the field. They’re on opposite sides from last time, so Izuku can see Kacchan’s face, as blurry as it is from this distance. It looks like he’s either smiling or snarling. Probably a combination of both. 

“Alright, listeners! It’s finally time for the second semifinal!” Present Mic calls, and Izuku feels himself shiver, slightly. He’s not sure if it’s anxiety or excitement.

“This semifinal will be between Katsuki Bakugou of class 1-A and Neito Monoma of class 1-B. Whoever wins will move on to the finals, where they will face off against class 1-A’s Izuku Midoriya.” Izuku flushes as Present Mic says his name. “I don’t think any further introductions are necessary, not after the impression these two made in their other matches! Ready?” Izuku watches Kacchan crouch into his fighting stance. Monoma doesn’t, of course. Izuku can tell he’s making a mocking face at Kacchan even from here. 

“Start!” Present Mic calls, and Kacchan rushes forward with a right hook. Izuku grips his fingers on the popcorn bag, crinkling the paper as he leans forward, biting at his lip.  _ You can’t do that _ , he thinks at Kacchan as Monoma easily dodges the hit,  _ you have to do something surprising, or he beats you. _

Kacchan growls, the enhanced image on the TV hanging above focusing in on the curl to his lip, the almost feral look he gets. He slides in like he’s going for another right hook, and Monoma dodges accordingly, ducking in and to the side, but Kacchan’s face twists into a vicious grin. His other hand shoots out, grabbing Monoma by the front of his uniform and jerking him in as Kacchan headbutts his face.

“Isn’t that your move?” Todoroki asks, a hand going up to touch his nose. Izuku blinks, watching Kacchan move his right arm to fire an explosion into Monoma’s stomach, one that makes the kid wince and stumble back, wiping blood from his nose.

“Kind of,” Izuku mumbles, watching as Kacchan sneers, giving Monoma the middle finger.

“You like that, you stupid bastard?” Kacchan says, his voice projected so the audience can hear. “Copy my quirk and fight me for real, asshat.” Izuku blinks. 

“He wants him to copy his quirk?” Uraraka asks, her mouth half-full of popcorn. “Won’t that make it harder for him?”

“I-I think that’s the point,” Izuku says. “He doesn’t want to win unless he can beat Monoma at his best.” It’s been a theme for Kacchan. He’s never been willing to cheat on tests, to take things easy. Would Kacchan think Izuku’s quirk is cheating? Taking the easy way out?

Monoma shrugs, and he reaches out and taps Kacchan’s extended arm, his fingers contacting his wrist. “Don’t mind if I do,” he says, stepping back and watching as Kacchan gets back into a fighting stance. Monoma flexes his hands, little explosions crackling off of his palms. He looks up at Kacchan and grins, then Kacchan is rushing in at him. Izuku watches, his eyes having a hard time tracking their motions as Kacchan throws a kick that Monoma blocks with an explosion, only for Kacchan to feint another right hook and punctuate the movement with an explosion of his own as he hits Monoma with an elbow instead. It’s dizzying to watch, the field filling with dark smoke and flashing lights. Izuku can’t even take his eyes off of them long enough to look down at his popcorn, and he gropes blindly at it without looking so that he’ll have something in his stomach for the next fight. 

There’s an explosion that’s different, bigger. Izuku can't see any of the ring, let alone the two fighting inside of it, but he  _ can _ see the way Cementoss and Midnight both step closer, grimaces on their faces. Izuku scoots to the edge of his seat, like those few extra inches will help him see. 

The smoke starts to clear, and it’s on a very different scene from the end of the last fight. Monoma is on the ground, his body facing up and his hands wrapped around Kacchan’s ankle where he’s pressing one foot to Monoma’s throat. Monoma’s hands are smoking and crackling, matching Kacchan’s palms where they’re held pointed at Monoma’s face.

“Give up,” Kacchan growls, “or I’ll blow your ugly face off.” Izuku can see that Midnight is shouting something to Kacchan, but Kacchan is ignoring her. Monoma struggles against Kacchan’s foot, coughing visible even from up in the stands. He looses a small burst of explosions into Kacchan’s leg, and Izuku winces even though Kacchan doesn’t. He knows how much that would hurt. Monoma drops his hands and sighs. 

“I give up,” he says, the TV zooming in to show his face, smeared with ash and sweaty. 

“Monoma has conceded! The victory goes to Bakugou, who will be facing off against Midoriya from his own class in the final round!” Present Mic shouts, and the audience erupts into cheers. Izuku finds himself joining in, screaming and clapping as he stands up from his seat, shoving his popcorn at Todoroki. 

“We’ll take a one hour break to allow the combatants to rest and heal before their match, and then it’ll be time for our last match!” Present Mic says, whooping, and Izuku turns to Uraraka, smiling.

“Kacchan did it!” He shouts, over the cheers of the audience. Uraraka gives him a confused smile. 

“Deku, you know you’re going to have to fight him, right?” She shouts back, and Izuku glances back down at the field. He could be imagining it, but it looks like Kacchan is staring back at him from the way his face is tilted towards the stands.

“Yeah!” Izuku shouts, breathless. “I know.” He can’t help the swell of anxiety and excitement that rises in him, bright and buzzing.  _ I don’t know if I can beat him _ , Izuku thinks,  _ but I already beat Todoroki. No matter how I do here, I’ll surely have eyes on me for internships.  _ He clenches his hands into fists, grinning.  _ That doesn’t mean I’m not going to try, though, Kacchan! _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: canon child abuse
> 
> YEAH OUR BOY FINALLY DID IT!!!! and next up is the finals :D 
> 
> also i noticed that i've been saying work study when i meant internships... forgive me!! im but a stupid flawed human being for some reason. 
> 
> join the discord if u dare >:) we're very nice and it's super chill https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt


	23. sports festival, part 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku beats todoroki! bakugou beats monoma!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE LAST SPORTS FESTIVAL CHAP!!!! im v v excited both for the conclusion to this and for the next arc so :3c

The prep room is quieter than Izuku likes. He wraps his hand around the water bottle he’s holding, the plastic crinkling under his grip. He stares at the table in front of him, at his own blurry shadow. 

The door opens suddenly, slamming open with force, and Izuku flinches so hard he almost jumps out of his chair. He turns his head to see Kacchan, starting in the doorway with a bewildered look on his face. 

“Huh?” Kacchan leans out of the door. “Why are you--” He blinks, looking back to Izuku. “Fuck, this is prep room two.” Izuku smiles, looking back at his water bottle and wrapping his hands around it.

“Hi, Kacchan,” he says, quietly, and he hears Kacchan breathe out loudly through his nose.

“Deku,” Kacchan says, stepping further into the room. “You’d better not go fucking easy on me.”

“I won’t,” Izuku replies, squeezing the water bottle and hearing it crackle. He doesn’t look up at Kacchan.

“You know what I fucking mean,” Kacchan snarls, slamming a hand on the table. “Use your secret fucking quirk!” Izuku glances up at him, blinks.

“I-I can’t,” he says, watching Kacchan’s brow twitch. “It--it wouldn’t help me in the middle of combat like that.” He sighs. “It’d make me more likely to lose, not less.”

Kacchan narrows his eyes at him. “You’d better fight me at least twice as hard as you fought stupid half-and-half, then.” 

“Don’t be mad when I fight dirty then,” Izuku says, looking up at him and smiling. Kacchan smirks.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, you fucking animal.” Kacchan says, his voice a growl. His gaze lingers on Izuku. “You really can’t use it in combat?”

Izuku shakes his head. “Not like this. Hey, Kacchan, how did you beat Monoma?” he asks before he can think better of it. Kacchan’s eye twitches and his smirk drops into a scowl.

“What the fuck do you mean? You watched the damn fight.” Kacchan is growling as he stands beside Izuku.

“I-I mean,” Izuku fumbles, “y-you wouldn't have--” he cuts himself off. “It--Nevermind.” His heartbeat is too fast for him to come up with an explanation, for him to explain exactly  _ how _ he knows that Kacchan would have lost. Did lose. 

Kacchan narrows his eyes. “Fucking what, Deku?” he snarls, then looks away. “Are you going to make me fucking say it?”

Izuku blinks. “Say what?” Kacchan’s head whips back to look at him. 

“That I was fucking inspired by your bullshit fight with IcyHot, idiot.” He blows air out his nose. “Don’t take it as a fucking compliment,” he says, turning and stomping toward the door. “You fight like a wild fucking animal,” he snarls, opening the door and glancing back at Izuku. “Don’t hold back on me, or I’ll kill your stupid ass right there.”

Izuku smiles at him and chuckles nervously. “I-I wouldn’t dream of it, Kacchan.”

\--

There’s something different about standing in the tunnel, now that Izuku knows it’s the last time. It’s quieter, somehow, but he can also hear the chatter of the audience louder than ever. It crawls around the edges of his senses, a low buzz of conversation. Izuku prays that he’s the topic of some of the talking, even though he hates the thought of the attention on him.  _ Making it to the finals will surely be enough for me to get an internship _ , he thinks,  _ right? _

He’s alone in the tunnel this time, and he supposes it makes sense. Aizawa and All Might have spoken to him plenty today, both this time through and the others. Kacchan’s mom and dad aren’t here since they’re not pro heroes, and even if they  _ were  _ here, they wouldn’t have any weird speeches to give to Izuku like Todoroki’s father did. Izuku’s known them since he was a child. Even if they haven’t seen him in a few years, they  _ know _ him, have known him since he was in diapers and his and Kacchan’s mom took turns watching them so they could work. 

The tunnel is darker than last time, the shadows cutting sharper lines in the ground outside. Izuku thinks it’s because the last remaining dregs of the morning fog have finally burny away, leaving the sun to shine unadulterated on the ground. Across the field, across the packed dirt and the familiar white tape, Izuku can see Kacchan. His childhood friend is alone in his tunnel, too. He’s staring out at Izuku like Izuku is staring at him, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes so bright red that Izuku thinks they might be glowing. 

Izuku takes a deep breath, squeezing and unsqueezing his hands at his sides, then stepping forward into the sunlight. The bright light falls into his eyes, stinging them, but he keeps his gaze held high, watching as Kacchan steps out, too. The sun makes his hair glow nearly white as they walk into the ring, facing each other in matching sports uniforms.

“Kacchan,” Izuku whispers, barely above a breath. Kacchan tips his head to the side ever so slightly.

“Deku,” he says, his tone as neutral as it gets. A light breeze blows through the stadium, brushing Izuku’s hair against his forehead.

“For the final match of the first year tournament,” Present Mic calls, dramatic and excited, “we have Katsuki Bakugou and Izuku Midoriya from class 1-A of the hero course. Now, I don’t know how true this is, but I’ve heard these two are actually childhood friends!” Izuku watches Kacchan scowl. “This match will be especially interesting because as I’m sure you’ve heard by now, Midoriya is quirkless.” Izuku starts at the mention of it. He sees Kacchan’s brows twitch. 

“Midoriya defeated his first three opponents using his strong combat skills and impressive instincts! Bakugou, on the other hand, has an incredibly powerful quirk as I’m sure you’ve all seen.” Kacchan’s eyes are red, red, red as he stares Izuku down. “His quirk control and his battle skills are impressive, especially for a first year! I’m personally on the edge of my seat already.” Present Mic chuckles. “Well, with that said, are we ready?” The crowd roars. Izuku bends his knees and raises his hands, settling into his fighting stance. Kacchan does the same, his stance lower and closer to his body than Izuku’s. There’s already sweat glistening on the skin of his palms, visible where his fingers are curling into loose fists. 

“Start!” Present Mic shouts, and Izuku is moving to dodge Kacchan’s right hook before the other boy even throws it.  _ It’s like tradition _ , Izuku thinks as he ducks to the side of the punch, blocking the knee strike Kacchan throws along with it. Kacchan whirls around to face him again, pointing a palm at him and loosing an explosion that makes Izuku’s hair whip around his face and the heat sting his eyes. It’s a smokescreen, though, and Izuku is familiar enough with Kacchan’s fighting to know that he’ll slide in low, where the smoke is sinking to. Izuku slides back just as Kacchan tries to sweep out his legs, and Izuku follows the movement with a punch that cracks against the side of Kacchan’s face, his cheekbone digging into the flesh of Izuku’s hands. Izuku slides back from the hit when Kacchan grins, holding his hands up and popping off small blasts from them. 

“Are you fucking ready, Deku?!” He snarls, flexing his fingers. Izuku bites his lip and grins back at him despite the nerves bubbling in his chest.

“Are you, Kacchan?” Izuku replies, stepping his right foot forward and turning around completely to throw a hook kick that Kacchan blocks with his forearm, stepping into Izuku’s space to shove a palm into his chest.

“When am I not?” Kacchan asks as he explodes his hand into Izuku’s skin. Izuku hisses, his feet grinding against the ground as the force of the blast pushes him back. He catches his balance just as Kacchan steps toward him again, his hands smoking as he uses two blasts to balance himself as he throws a kick forward at Izuku. Izuku dodges in and to the side, elbowing Kacchan in the ribs. Izuku can feel the what of his body as he grunts, stepping back and glaring at Izuku. Izuku takes his chance, reaching in to grab Kacchan’s collar and yanking him in, smashing their foreheads together.

“You remember this move, Kacchan?” He says, breathless and laughing as he jerks his knee up to hit Kacchan in the crotch. Kacchan  _ squeaks _ , jolting back and hissing in pain before shoving his hand at Izuku’s collar, grabbing him so they’re both holding each other. 

“Don’t fucking try me,” Kacchan grunts, throwing his head into Izuku’s nose. Izuku laughs despite the hot pain that burns his eyes, taking the chance to shove his free hand into Kacchan’s gut in a strong punch that makes Kacchan let go of him and step back. Izuku lets him, wiping blood off of his nose with his sleeve as he realizes, suddenly and wildly, that he’s  _ enjoying this _ . 

He steps in, throwing a kick that swings into Kacchan’s block, making his rival take a step to the side. Kacchan growls, exploding a hand into Izuku’s ankle, and it hurts but Izuku finds he doesn’t mind. He uses the opening to throw a kick that grazes Kacchan’s temple, leaving a red mark on the side of his forehead that matches the bruise already forming in the center of it. 

_ There’s something different about this fight _ , Izuku thinks as Kacchan dives forward, punching Izuku square in the chest.  _ I’m not fighting for my life, and I... _ He twists closer, returning the punch with one of his own. He gets an explosion to the face for his trouble, one that leaves stars in his eyes that he has to blink away as he steps back. 

_ I’m having fun _ , he realizes as Kacchan charges at him. Izuku steps out of the way, turning around and moving back to reposition himself in the center of the ring. Kacchan is panting, a vicious grin on his face and a smear of dark ash on his cheek. 

“You keep fucking dodging, Deku,” Kacchan says, laughing darkly. “I’m going to fucking blast your brains out.” Izuku grins back at him, swinging a foot forward and feinting at a kick. Kacchan blocks it, leaving himself open for when Izuku grabs him at the waist and flips him over his shoulder, slamming him onto his back on the ground. 

“You were saying?” Izuku says, giggling as Kacchan hisses at him. He starts to haul himself up, and Izuku stomps on his chest, just because he can. Kacchan wraps his hands around Izuku’s foot and fires off a stinging series of blasts, ones strong enough that Izuku has to flinch back and hop away on one foot to gather himself, giving Kacchan time to lurch to his feet, grinning with all his teeth showing. 

“Just you fucking  _ wait _ ,” Kacchan growls, charging at Izuku with crackling palms. Izuku has time to brace himself, guarding his face and chest, but the force of the blasts are still strong enough to knock the air out of him. He barely stops himself from falling, stumbling a few steps back instead.

“I’ve got you working up a sweat, I guess,” Izuku says as the smoke clears, dodging the right hook Kacchan throws. He uses the proximity to knee Kacchan in the crotch again, and Kacchan jerks out of the way, hissing.

“Again with the fucking ball shot,” Kacchan grumbles, glaring daggers at Izuku. “Can’t you come up with anything else?” Izuku shrugs, throwing a lazy kick that he knows Kacchan will block. He uses it to move close again, out of Kacchan’s kicking range. 

“I have a couple of ideas,” Izuku says as Kacchan punches at him, just like he expected. Izuku grabs Kacchan’s wrist and tugs his arm in, sinking his teeth into the meat of his forearm just enough to taste blood. He pulls away as Kacchan’s hand starts exploding by his ear, and Izuku can’t hear his own laughing over the ringing in his ears, but it’s worth it. 

“God, what the fuck Deku?!” Kacchan screams, reaching at him with a sparking palm. Izuku giggles, dodging and elbowing Kacchan again. 

“You’re the one who called me an animal earlier!” He shouts back, feeling a drop of sweat run down the side of his face. “It’s your fault,” he laughs, as Kacchan snarls at him, sliding out of the way of a punch. 

“Get over here, Deku,” Kacchan yells, his palms crackling and popping as he charges forward, exploding his hands in Izuku’s face. The impact makes Izuku dizzy, but he doesn’t let it distract him as he sweeps Kacchan’s feet, making the man stumble but not fall. Izuku feels his blood rushing in his ears as he ducks in to slam his fist into Kacchan’s stomach, just below the ribs. Kacchan coughs, sputtering, and Izuku uses the chance to grab Kacchan’s head and slam his chin down into Izuku’s knee. Izuku hears Kacchan’s teeth clack together loudly, and he bites his lip in sympathy. 

Kacchan blinks for a moment, like he’s surprised, then he explodes, the smoke and light blinding Izuku for a second. He feels a warm hand wrap itself in the fabric of his uniform and another grab his side, then he’s flying, flipped over Kacchan’s shoulder.

Izuku feels his breath leave him in a rush as his back slams into the ground, and he looks up at Kacchan, at the wide grin on his face and the smoke clearing around them, and Izuku grins back, trying to sit up. He blinks in surprise when he realizes his limbs aren’t responding to him, his arms and legs just shaking. He watches Kacchan’s face twitch, his brows furrow slightly. 

“Get up, Deku,” Kacchan says, nudging Izuku’s side with his foot. There’s no weight behind it, and Izuku swallows, twisting on the ground, trying to get up. He can’t and the sky above him is twisting and mixing with Kacchan’s face in his vision.

“Midoriya,” Midnight asks from the side of the ring, “Can you move?”

“Uh,” Izuku replies, eloquently. He strains, pressing his arms into the ground behind him and trying to lift himself up. “I-I don’t...” He lifts himself up about an inch off of the ground, then falls back down, his exhausted muscles giving out. “I don’t think so,” he replies, blinking up at Kacchan. Kacchan’s face is still hovering over his, his usual scowl painted on his lips. He’s blurry, though, and Izuku struggles to focus on him. 

“The match is over!” Present Mic shouts. “Midoriya is unable to move. Bakugou wins first place!” The audience erupts in cheers around them, and Izuku smiles up at Kacchan, who narrows his eyes at him. 

“That was fun, wasn’t it Kacchan?” Izuku asks, something fuzzy and fizzy bubbling in his head. He giggles, watching Kacchan’s eyes narrow. Kacchan huffs a loud sigh, then holds out his hand. The skin there is scuffed from explosions, scraped up and bruised. Izuku stares at it. 

“Take my fucking hand, Deku,” Kacchan growls, shaking it in air. Izuku blinks, reaching up a hand and gripping Kacchan’s. Kacchan hauls him up, pulling him to his feet, and Izuku sways with the motion, blinking as black fuzzies fill his vision. 

“We haven’t held hands like this since we were kids,” Izuku says, his voice slurring. Kacchan frowns, grabbing onto his shoulders and holding him up as his legs buckle underneath him. “Oops.” Izuku giggles. “I can’t stand.” He leans into Kacchan. “You’re all cool. Like, temperature wise.”

“Yeah, because you’re running a fucking fever,” Kacchan says, voice a low rumble. “Oi, Deku, did I give you a concussion?”

“Prolly,” Izuku replies, shrugging. “‘M gonna pass out, by the way.” 

“Don’t you fucking dare, Deku,” Kacchan growls. “Why the fuck do you have a fever?”

“Shh,” Izuku says. “It’s a secret.” Kacchan narrows his eyes at him, then whispers,

“I thought you couldn’t use your quirk in combat?” He seems angry, his red eyes narrowed.

“Can’t,” Izuku confirms, letting his eyes slide shut. “Used it between events.” 

“What the fuck-- Deku, don’t pass out, explain yourself!” Kacchan gives him a shake, but Izuku just groans, shaking his head. The world is melting into a liquid mess of colors, and he can’t process what Kacchan is asking him to do.

“Tired,” he mumbles, and Kacchan sighs. Izuku feels a strong arm slide under his legs and lift him. He vaguely processes that  _ hey, Kacchan is carrying me! _ before he loses consciousness.

\--

Izuku blinks his eyes open in the cool light of the infirmary. For a moment he’s confused, wondering why he’s tucked under a thin sheet and why he can hear the soft noise of chatter outside, but then he refocuses and his brain reminds him about his fight with Kacchan. He blinks at the ceiling, then slides his gaze to the side. 

Kacchan is in a chair by his bedside, his arms folded over his chest and his head tilted to the side, his cheek pillowed on his shoulder. His eyes are shut, and there are thin streaks of ash on his face where it hadn’t been cleaned off. His chest rises and falls slowly in his sleep. Izuku blinks, then looks to the side at a blur of motion in his peripheral vision.

Uraraka is waving at him, with Todoroki next to her. He stares at Izuku for a second, then waves one hand. Izuku smiles.

“How long has he been asleep?” He whispers, jerking his head at Kacchan. Uraraka giggles silently.

“Since he got healed, basically,” she whispers back at him. “He said he wasn’t leaving you alone until he got an explanation?” She shakes her head, rolling her eyes. “It didn’t really make any sense. He also wants to keep fighting.”

“Are you okay?” Todoroki asks. “You’re still sick.” He watches Izuku, even when Uraraka nudges him and presses a finger to her lips, quietly shushing him. 

“I’m okay,” Izuku replies, then looks over to Kacchan, reaching out a hand to rest on Kacchan’s shoulder. It’s warm, even through his uniform. “Kacchan,” he says, softly. “Wake up.” Kacchan shifts, his eyes fluttering open. The peaceful look on his face lasts from only a few more seconds before his eyes snap up to Izuku’s and his face twists into a snarl. He reaches forward, grabbing the front of Izuku’s shirt.

“Fucking Deku,” he snarls, yanking Izuku forward. “I want a goddamn rematch.” Izuku blinks, holding up his hands in surrender.

“Y-You beat me, though?” Izuku asks, blinking in surprise as Uraraka mouths something that look suspiciously like  _ I told you so _ from behind Kacchan. 

“Yeah, and it doesn’t fucking  _ count _ ,” Kacchan snarls, his breath hot on Izuku’s face. “I don’t want to beat you because you’re sick, I want to beat you because I fucking beat you.” Izuku blinks, then sighs.

“You would have beat me either way,” Izuku says, wrapping one of his hands over Kacchan’s wrist. “Can you please put me down?”

“Fucking fine,” Kacchan says, dropping him. “But we’re talking about this later. In  _ private _ ,” he says, eyes pointedly moving to glare at Todoroki and Uraraka. Izuku swallows nervously.

“Sure,” he says, then looks at Uraraka and stage-whispers to her, “Please help me.”

“Oi!” Kacchan shouts, kicking one of the legs of the bed loudly. “I fucking heard that, asshat!”

\--

Izuku stands on the second place riser, his legs shaking. The audience is loud around him, their cheers burning the tips of his ears and making him feel like he’s made of jello. It doesn’t help that Kacchan keeps setting off explosions on the first place spot next to him, raising his hands into the air and firing off large blasts while cackling. Each other sends the audience into a new uproar, and Izuku is more than ready for it to be over.

“Can we leave yet?” He asks, glancing up at Kacchan, who ignores him. The shiny gold medal hanging around his neck bobs and bounces as he jumps up, exploding the air around him. Izuku winces. He would very much like to not have people looking at him on live television right now, actually. 

“I think so,” Izuku blinks, leaning forward to see Todoroki looking at him from the third place riser. Next to him, Monoma is standing with his arms folded over his chest. They’re wearing matching bronze medals, and Izuku reaches up to fiddle with the silver one hanging from his own neck. The metal is smooth and cool under his fingers. 

“I’m quite over this whole ordeal myself,” Monoma says, stepping off of the third place riser. “It was fun until Blasty decided to make his own fireworks.” He rolls his eyes, and Izuku blinks, hopping down off of his own riser. 

“I thought you hated me,” he says, letting it slip out before he can think better of it. Monoma raises an eyebrow at him, his lips quirking up into a slight smirk. 

“Was I too obvious?” He says, meeting Izuku’s gaze. “I don’t hate you specifically, you know. I just don’t like 1-A and all of your stuck-up attitudes.”

“We’re not stuck up,” Todoroki says, and Monoma turns, glaring at him.

“Are you kidding? You’re one of the worst,” he says, sneering. He looks back over to Izuku. “Let’s walk,” he says, starting toward one of the exit tunnels. “I don’t know about you, but my ears are starting to hurt.” Izuku nods, following after him. He can barely make out the sound of Todoroki’s footsteps behind them, mostly covered by the blasts still sounding from the arena. There’s something odd about walking back into the tunnels like this, something uncomfortable about it. It makes Izuku feel like he’s going to have to do this all again, even though he’s not going to reset. 

Monoma stops in the dark of the tunnel, turning to face Izuku. Izuku and Todoroki both pause, too, and Monoma’s eyes narrow when they look at Todoroki. 

“Leave, Todoroki,” Monoma says, voice low and commanding. “I want to speak with Midoriya alone.” He slides his hands into his pockets, staring Todoroki down. Todoroki glances over to Izuku, his face neutral. 

“Are you okay with that?” he asks, and Izuku blinks. 

“Y-Yeah,” Izuku says, because he can’t imagine Monoma is going to say anything worse to him now than he did during their fight, the fight that only Izuku gets to remember. Plus, if worst comes to worst, Izuku knows for a fact he can take Monoma in a fight. 

“Alright,” Todoroki says, turning to walk past Monoma, through the door and into the hallway. Izuku watches the door fall shut behind him. Monoma sighs, meeting Izuku’s gaze with blue-grey eyes. 

“Midoriya,” Monoma says. “I want to make something clear. During the cavalry battle, I implied that I disliked you because of your quirkless status.” Izuku blinks, and Monoma presses on. “I want to make it clear that I dislike you for being in class 1-A and generally being annoying, not because of your lack of a quirk.” 

Izuku squints at him. “But you still dislike me...?” Monoma rolls his eyes. 

“Of course I still dislike you. You’re in class 1-A,” he says, his lip curling up like he’s smelled something rotten. “I hate all of you.”

“O-Okay,” Izuku says. “Can I go now?”

“I’m not done yet,” Monoma says, sighing. “Listen, I want you to  _ swear _ not to tell anybody about what I'm about to tell you.” Izuku frowns. 

“I-I swear?” He swallows nervously as Monoma meets his gaze. 

“My younger sister is quirkless,” Monoma says, biting at his lower lip for just a moment before stopping and glancing off to the side. “So I wanted you to know I don’t actually have a problem with quirkless people. And I suppose I wanted to apologize for using that against you.” 

Izuku blinks. “O-Oh,” he says, shifting nervously on his feet. “I-It’s okay.” Monoma sighs, looking at him again. 

“Do you have the extra toe joint?” Monoma asks, and Izuku remembers this from their fight, from the fight that got erased. 

“No,” Izuku says, shaking his head. He knows what’s coming next, but he still doesn’t want to hear it.

“I can tell if someone has a quirk or not when I use mine on them,” Monoma says, holding a hand out. “If you’d like, I could tell you whether you’re truly quirkless or not.”

Izuku shakes his head. “No.” He doesn’t have to think about it. 

“No?” Monoma tips his head slightly, dropping his hand. “I would have thought you’d want to know.” He sounds different than during their fight, calmer. Like he really doesn’t mean any harm in it. Izuku supposes that if he didn’t already know the answer, didn’t already know about his quirk, it might be something he had to think about, but...

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” Izuku holds his hands out, looking down at them. “I’m still functionally quirkless. Still legally quirkless. Even if I... If I had a quirk, it wouldn’t change anything.” He smiles slightly. “I think it’d be worse, actually. Because then wouldn’t it be my own fault that I’m useless?” He watches a look of surprise and horror pass over Monoma’s face for just a moment. 

“Quirkless people aren’t useless,” Monoma says, narrowing his eyes at Izuku. “Whatever. I’m finished.” He turns, putting a hand on the door handle, but Izuku speaks before he leaves.

“Monoma?” The boy pauses, hand already turning the handle to the door. “If we’d been matched up in the tournament, would you have copied my quirk?” Izuku has to know. “To see if I had one?”

Monoma shakes his head, looking over his shoulder at Izuku. “I wouldn’t do it without asking, no. It’s not like it’d help me beat you in combat if you don’t know what it is at this point, yeah?” His eyes flit over Izuku’s face. “Why?”

“No reason,” Izuku says, smiling. “See you at school.”

Monoma snorts. “As if I’d be caught dead with one of you class 1-A rats,” he says as he opens the door and steps out of the tunnel, leaving Izuku alone. 

\--

Izuku sees it on the news the night after the sports festival. He’s in his bed, curled up under the covers in clean pajamas, his eyes drooping from exhaustion, and he opens his news app, just to have something to read before bed. His stomach is still unhappy with him, and he’s sore all over from the fights, but when he reads the headline, he sits up straight, a chill running down his spine.

“Iida...” he breathes, reading it over and over again.  _ Pro-hero Ingenium in critical condition after attack by Hero Killer Stain. _ There are countless articles over the same topic, with headlines that mean the same thing but have been reworded. Izuku peels himself out of bed, stumbling to the bathroom just in time to lean over the toilet and throw up the remains of his dinner, the sharp taste of stomach acid burning his throat. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, panting, then rips off a wad of toilet paper and wipes his face with a shaking hand.

_ Iida’s older brother _ , he thinks, _ Iida had been missing, at the end of the festival, and I didn’t even ask after him. _ Izuku drops the toilet paper in the toilet and opens his phone, scrolling through one of the articles. He feels his breath catch in his throat when he notices the time of the attack. It was around 2 p.m., when the second round tournament fights would have been taking place. Izuku could have done something, if he’d known. He could have reset and warned someone. His hands start to shake, and he drops his phone on the floor. His vision blurs, and he leans over the toilet, the tile floor digging into his bare knees as he retches. 

_ I should have known _ , he thinks, forcing himself to stand, legs shaking.  _ I should have done something _ . He flushes the toilet and stumbles back to his room, leaving the phone on the floor.  _ I can still try. _

It’s easy to take his knives out of their box. It’s easy to sit on his bed, hands shaking, and cut himself open. It’s easier than beating Todoroki was or losing to Kacchan was. It’s easier than reading those articles. It’s easier than thinking about how Izuku lived that day over and over, went through that day multiple times, and still didn’t take the time to notice this. How he died over and over for his stupid  _ pride _ , but didn’t die to save his friend’s brother. 

He’s dying for that now, at least. It feels foggy and good in a way nothing else does to bleed out, and even though the pounding in his head gets worse near the end, he’s okay with it. 

\--

He wakes up in his bed, bundled under the covers, with the phone in his hand and a pounding headache that makes his vision blur, makes his ears ring. Izuku throws himself out of bed again, running to the bathroom, and this time when he vomits into the toilet, it’s tinged dark red with blood, mixing into the katsudon his mom had made for him. Izuku doesn’t bother trying to get up; he crouches on the bathroom floor and grips his hands on the toilet seat, shaking with the effort of holding himself up.  _ It’s too late,  _ is all he can think, over and over again.  _ It’s too late.  _

He doesn’t know how long he sits there on the bathroom floor, his stomach burning and his bones aching, deep within him in a way that they haven’t since the USJ, but eventually he lurches to his feet, flushing the toilet. His skin looks pale in the moonlight filtering through the window when he turns the tap on and washes his hands, using water and a hand towel to scrub the drying blood and vomit from his cheek. His hands don’t seem to want to listen to him, twitching oddly and prickling like they’re asleep, but he manages to clean himself up before he stumbles back to his room, throwing himself into his bed. His head is aching, pounding and burning with every movement he makes and every tiny sound in the room, but he makes himself fish his phone out from the mess of blankets, makes himself open his text messages and type out a message to Iida and another to Uraraka. 

He can’t keep his eyes open to wait for a reply, can’t stay awake that long, but it’s something. Izuku falls asleep with his heartbeat pounding too fast in his temples and his stomach a fiery hot stone in his belly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: vomiting
> 
> i hope u enjoyed!!!! ik a lot of ppl wanted izuku to lose to todoroki or to beat bkg, but i really liked this outcome so dfjkghdfkj
> 
> also sorry about the end there i can't make the WHOLE chapter happy lmao that'd be too nice <3 
> 
> thank you as always for the support!!! it means the world to me <3 the discord link for u: https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt


	24. return to class

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku got second in the sports festival! then learned something real concerning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi gamers im back with another chapter that i cried while writing. have fun :D

Izuku walks up to the UA gate, fingers curled around the straps of his backpack. He’s got a hoodie on over his uniform, the hood pulled up in an attempt to hide his distinctive hair. He’s wearing a blue surgical mask, too, but even with that on, he’d still been recognized by four people on the train alone, and as much as it was nice to be congratulated, Izuku doesn’t think he has it in him today. It’s pouring rain, and the steady white noise of the drizzle is making his headache worse. The umbrella he’s holding isn’t doing a lot to keep his legs dry, either, and he can only pray they’re keeping it warm inside the building. It’s not that cold out, but he’s shivering even under the layers. 

Izuku’d spent the day after the sports festival buried in his blankets, his limbs stiff and tingling and his head pounding with pain. His mom had accepted his excuse of being exhausted from being healed so many times with Recovery Girl’s quirk, but Izuku thinks she suspected he was lying when he’d still been tired and weak the next day, too. Izuku’s just glad she hadn’t caught him hunched over the toilet or when he'd gotten dizzy in the hallway and fallen onto his knees, scraping them on the floor. 

He’d thought he was feeling better today, up until when he’d stepped onto the train and been surrounded by the chatter and bright lights of the train and his headache had returned with a vengeance, echoing the deep pain in the bones of his arms and legs. Now, standing outside of UA, he’s wondering if he’s going to be able to make it through the day. The thought of sitting through lessons, with his teachers speaking loudly and the bright fluorescent lights above him, the screeching of chairs scraping on the floor and then the smells and sounds of food at lunch time... Izuku thinks he might throw up right now, actually.

“Excuse me, I am going to be late for class!” Iida’s voice surprises Izuku, and he jumps, slipping in the rain under his shoes. He flails for a moment, dropping his umbrella in an attempt to catch himself, but it’s Iida who catches him, his arms wrapped in a clear rain poncho. 

“S-Sorry!” Izuku gasps, blinking away the fuzzy bits in his vision. “You surprised me, Iida.”

“Midoriya?” Iida blinks, his eyes widening. “I didn’t recognize you with that mask on! I apologize, but we need to get moving or we’ll be late for homeroom,” he says, grabbing ahold of Izuku’s arm and straightening him out before reaching down and picking up his fallen umbrella. Izuku takes it from him, staring at him in shock as he turns and starts running towards the school. Izuku blinks, then runs after him, ignoring the way every impact of his feet against the ground sends strange pins and needles feelings through his feet and ankles.

“Are you okay, Iida?” Izuku asks, casting a worried glance over to his friend. Iida looks back at him and smiles as they reach the door.

“You needn’t worry about my brother,” Iida says, opening the door and smiling. “I apologize if he or I have caused you any undue worry.” He pulls open the door and steps inside, but Izuku still feels like something’s off as he follows his friend through the door. He lets it go for now, but something tells him that it can't be that easy

\--

When Izuku slides into his seat in class, most of his friends are already there. Uraraka is in the seat next to him, chatting with Tsuyu, but when Izuku sits down, they both turn to look at him. He’s taken the mask and hoodie off, so there’s nothing hiding his face, and he sees the worried turn to Uraraka’s brows. 

“Deku, are you okay? You’re all red...” She reaches out a hand to feel his forehead, and Izuku flails his hands to get away from her, but not before she rests a cool hand on his flushed skin. Her frown deepens. 

“It feels like you have a fever,” she says, and Izuku doesn’t miss the way Kaminari and Kacchan both turn to look at him when she says that.

“I-I don’t!” He says, waving his hands in a placating gesture. “It’s probably from, um, running, I-I was going to be late, so--”

“He was nearly late,” Iida cuts in from where he’s sitting, notes out neatly in front of him. “I almost knocked him over at the gate.” He meets Izuku’s gaze and Izuku gets the unspoken agreement there.  _ You don’t want me to talk about your brother so you’ll cover for me being sick, huh? _ Izuku kind of hopes he’s reading into it too much. He has to remind himself that he’s spent more time with each of his classmates than they have with him--they don’t have all of those other resets in their memories. 

“I don’t think you can get a fever from running, ribbit,” Tsuyu says, tipping her head slightly at Izuku. “Are you okay, Midoriya?” She meets Izuku’s gaze.

Izuku nods. “I-I really am,” he says, and he thinks it’s the truth. Even if his head hurts and his whole body feels tingly and painful and wrong, he’s okay. It’s not like he can  _ die _ .

“Then he’s okay,” Tsuyu says, looking back at her notebook, where she’s making notes in the margins of a printed-out powerpoint. Izuku blinks, thankful for her trust. He leans down and starts to pull his own notes out of his backpack, both his current non-secret analysis notebook and his planner, since they tend not to actually do lessons during homeroom itself. 

Aizawa steps into the classroom like he usually does, shuffling across the room without really picking up his feet, but Izuku doesn’t miss the way his gaze catches on Iida for a moment, doesn’t miss the way Iida gives the teacher a small smile and a nod. Aizawa looks away from him, but Izuku knows Aizawa well enough to know that there’s no way he’s letting it go. 

“Alright, settle down,” he says, stepping behind his desk. The only people who are really talking are Kacchan’s friends, but they all quiet down quickly and turn to face the front of the room. “Today we’ve got Hero Informatics class,” Aizawa says, scratching at his scar with a finger. Izuku blinks and looks down at his planner, and sure enough they do. He’d forgotten all about it. 

“Do you think we’re going over legal shit again?” Kaminari whispers to Ashido a little too loudly. Aizawa’s eyes lazily shift to him. 

“No, Kaminari,” he says, and Kaminari freezes with a little squeak. “Today, you’ll be picking your hero names.” He says it with a sigh, like he’s expecting the way the class erupts into noise at the reveal. Uraraka next to Izuku jumps out of her chair, cheering, but it takes everything Izuku has to not throw up, the noise and movement worsening his headache into a sharp pounding against the bones of his skull. He swallows, squeezing his hands into fists and ignoring the way his fingers prickle and ache at the movement. He feels a wave of intense gratitude for the way the class instantly starts to settle down when Aizawa’s hair starts to float, his narrowed eyes shining bright red for just a moment. 

“Before that,” he says, his hair falling. “We need to discuss the pro draft picks from the sports festival. As you know, these picks are a way for the pros to express their interest in you and your future.” Aizawa glances over the class. “There’s still plenty of time for their interest to wane, and all offers can be revoked arbitrarily.” 

“So even if we’re picked now, it doesn’t mean the future is going to be easy?” Hagakure asks, and it looks like she’s leaning forward on her desk, judging by the position of her clothes, although it’s hard to tell. 

“Right,” Aizawa says, nodding. He clicks a button on his computer, and the projector fires on, displaying a series of names and bars on the blackboard. “Here are the picks. Usually the distribution is a bit different, but this year’s festival was unusual enough to skew things.” He taps on the board, but Izuku isn’t really listening any more. 

The first name, up at the top, is Todoroki’s. He’s got over four thousand offers, and just below him, Kacchan has almost as much. Under him, a few of his classmates have offers. Izuku’s name is at the bottom of the list, with only three. 

Izuku raises his hand even though Aizawa is talking. “Sensei,” he interrupts, voice high and unsteady. “Can I go to the restroom?” He asks, and Aizawa arches a brow at him. 

“Wait until I’ve handed out the--” He starts, but Izuku doesn’t actually let him finish, getting up and walking to the door with his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He opens the door and steps out into the hallway, shutting it quietly behind him. The pressure of his hands on the door sends uncomfortable pins and needles through the pads of his fingers, but he ignores it, just like he’s ignoring the too-fast beating of his heart in his chest.  _ I need to get to the bathroom _ , he thinks to himself, like a chant.  _ I just need to get to the bathroom. _

Izuku’s eyes are already full of hot tears, threatening to spill over when he pushes the door to the boy’s bathroom open, steps inside and marches into a stall. He locks it with shaking hands, then stands there, staring at his hand where it’s still on the latch, shaking. Izuku’s vision blurs as he starts to cry, tears stinging the sides of his face as his shoulders shake. He tries to take a breath in, but it hitches in his throat, making a horrible wet noise that Izuku tries to stifle by covering his mouth with his hands, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling as he sobs.

_ I’m okay _ , he thinks,  _ this is okay. _ He can’t get a full breath in without hiccupping, and his head is swimming, the tension from trying not to cry amplifying the horrible ache in his head, and he feels so  _ stupid _ and  _ weak _ .  _ This is why nobody wants me, _ he realizes with a choked sob.  _ I’m not only quirkless, but I’m a stupid fucking crybaby who can’t even handle the truth _ . He takes his left hand from his mouth, his right still stifling the tiny noises he’s making, and he digs the tips of his fingers into the spaces between his ribs, pressing painful bursts into the muscles of his sides. It’s grounding, and it helps, but Izuku just wants to rip his uniform off and cut lines into his arms and thinking about that somehow makes it all worse.

Izuku has to shut his eyes against the wave of frustration and self hatred that washes over him, and his breath seizes altogether, stuttering and catching in his chest with a burst of pain that he thinks might be his heart breaking.  _ I’m never going to get over this _ , he thinks.  _ I’m never going to be seen as anything more than quirkless _ .  _ I’m never going to be a real hero _ . He whimpers into his hand, the sound quiet around the rushing of his blood in his ears. He thinks he might throw up. 

“Midoriya?” Todoroki’s voice is quiet, soft, and Izuku anyway. He hadn’t heard him come in, but now he can hear the soft tap of his shoes on the tile floor as he walks to the front of the stall Izuku is standing in, face wet with tears and one hand clamped over his mouth, the other wrapped around himself. Izuku tries to say something, but all that he manages to do is sob softly, the hiccuping noise echoing in the bathroom. 

“Midoriya, open the door.” Todoroki’s voice is an order, not a request, and Izuku shakes his head anyway. 

“N-No,” Izuku whimpers. “‘M okay, T-Todoroki.” His voice sounds like it’s been run through a blender and sewn back together with steel wool. He grips his ribs tighter. The pain in his muscles is weaker than the sensation of static in his hand. 

“Open the door,” Todoroki says, voice firm, “or I’ll break it down.” Izuku knows he will, from experience, so he uncurls his hand from his mouth and unlatches the door before he can talk himself out of it. The metal lock makes a dull thunk as he slides it to the side, and the door swings outward, slightly. Izuku covers his mouth again with his hand, trying to stop his breathing from making those horrible catching noises, those stutters and breaks, as Todoroki yanks the door open. 

There’s something about Todoroki’s face, about the desperate sort of worry and the way his brows are low and knitted together, the way he’s biting his bottom lip just the tiniest bit, that makes Izuku sob harder because  _ he’s worried about me and I don’t deserve it. _ Todoroki seems to notice, because he puts a hand on Izuku’s shoulder and tugs him out of the cramped stall, into the main portion of the bathroom, pushing him forward until they’re by the sinks. Todoroki presses Izuku so that the back of his legs his the edge of the counter, supporting him, then removes his hand from Izuku’s shoulder, instead looking at his face with an expression that holds something other than just worry. Izuku can’t place what that other emotion is. 

“What is it with you and bathrooms?” Todoroki breathes, so quiet that Izuku doesn’t even know if he meant to say it, but something about it is funny to Izuku, just funny enough for him to snort out a small, wet laugh from behind his hand. He moves that hand down to hug at himself, wrapping it around him just like his other arm is, then asks,

“What do you mean?” his voice is shaking, both with tears and strange, unwanted laughter, but Todoroki’s gaze snaps back into focus and he blinks. 

“I...” His brows furrow lower. “I don’t know.” He raises a hand up to touch his forehead, just like he’d done a few times during the sports festival. Izuku wonders if his head hurts.

“Are you okay?” He asks, before he can think better of it. Todoroki looks up at him, one brow raising slightly. 

“You’re the one crying in the bathroom,” Todoroki points out, and Izuku flushes, his face going hot. He reaches up a hand to scrub away the tears still on his face, but he isn’t really crying any more.

“Only three,” he says, looking down at the floor, at his and Todoroki’s shoes. “I got second place, and I only got three offers.”

“I only got mine because of my father’s influence,” Todoroki says, and when Izuku looks up at him, there’s something gentle on his face. He doesn’t say anything else, just studies Izuku’s face as Izuku gathers his own thoughts. 

“Are you...” Izuku swallows. “Your father is one of them, right?” He fidgets with his hands, fingers picking at each other. 

Todoroki nods. “I’ll be accepting his offer, most likely.” He tips his head slightly. “You didn’t stay to see who your offers were from,” he says. Izuku shakes his head.

“I-I panicked,” he says, shifting his feet on the ground. “It shouldn’t have caught me off guard, but it did.” 

“I think it’s foolish of hero agencies not to give you offers,” Todoroki says, and Izuku’s surprised to see him looking completely serious. “You managed to accomplish more without a quirk than most of us did with one. It shows a level of skill in both combat and strategy that’s impressive.” He looks at the ground. “I’m ashamed that I didn’t believe you when you said you would beat me.”

Izuku blinks. “R-Really?” He’s not used to hearing praise like this, not from someone who not long ago had been closed off and angry, refusing to engage with Izuku or anyone else. 

Todoroki’s face flushes, just slightly. “Yes,” he answers, then takes a deep breath. “We should go back to class. I left without permission, as did you.”

Izuku starts. “You left without permission to follow me?”

Todoroki shrugs. “You... you looked like you could use a friend right then,” he says quietly, uncertainly, and Izuku  _ beams _ . 

“You were right,” Izuku says, and Todoroki’s eyes snap up to his, to the smile Izuku gives him, as watery as it is. Todoroki returns it with a small smile of his own, and Izuku feels that lonely, bitter pain in his chest fade ever-so-slightly. 

\--

Izuku walks into Gym Beta with his face already flushing red in embarrassment. Aizawa hadn’t chewed him out when he and Todoroki walked back into homeroom, but he  _ had _ said they would talk later, and Izuku is sure that this, here, is the later he was talking about. Izuku sees Aizawa already in the gym, leaning against the wall with his hands folded over his chest and his eyes on Izuku, and Izuku sighs in resignation, his heart already beating faster in his chest. 

“Problem child,” Aizawa greets him, and Izuku blinks at the nickname. “Have you had a chance to look at your draft offers?” He pushes himself off of the wall and starts to walk toward Izuku. 

Izuku swallows nervously. “Um. Yeah.” He sets his backpack down on the metal bench near the water fountains and takes his hoodie off, laying it over the bench in the hopes that it’ll dry some. It’s still pouring outside, and even though it isn’t all that cold, Izuku is shivering in his sports uniform.

“Well?” Aizawa asks. Izuku looks at him where he stands, watching Izuku.

“You, um.” Izuku bites his lips. “You’ve read them?” He knows Aizawa has, of course, but he needs to ask. Aizawa nods.

“I have,” he confirms. “Are you going to accept his offer?” He asks it like it isn’t a loaded question. Izuku drops his gaze to the mats that cover the floor here, padding it in case someone falls while sparring. 

“Should I?” he asks instead of answering. “I-Isn’t he just... D-Doesn’t he just feel bad for me?” He toes his shoes off, his socks damp from the outside. He wrinkles his nose slightly at the way his toes prickle uncomfortably as he steps on the back of his socks to pull them off without having to use his hands. His toes are a deep purple, his feet pale, and he can only hope Aizawa doesn’t notice. 

“I think you need to talk with him directly to determine that,” Aizawa says, voice careful. “But you also need to seriously consider if he has the time to carry out an internship while teaching here at UA.” Izuku straightens up, socks under the bench. 

“I know about All Might’s time limit and his injury,” Izuku says, and Aizawa’s eyes widen slightly. He sighs, then rolls his eyes.

“Of course you do,” he says, under his breath, then looks at Izuku. “Then you should know his time limit now is down to less than an hour,” he says. “He uses all of that just teaching. Do you think that the internship with him would be worth it? Do you think that you’d be able to learn from him?” Izuku stares back at his teacher for a moment.

“I... I should still talk to All Might first, even if just to turn him down,” Izuku says, looking to the ground. “But I think you’re right, Aizawa-sensei. I just...” He looks back up at his teacher, embarrassed at the way tears have started to prickle at the corners of his eyes. “Why only three?” His voice cracks ever so slightly, and Aizawa sighs, his gaze softening. He steps forward, setting a gentle head on Izuku’s head, compressing the curls there.

“Because, problem child, the world is still learning.” He takes a slow breath. “Keep in mind that two of your offers were from the top ten. That means more than the total number of offers you received.” 

“R-Right!” Izuku says, a smile creeping up onto his face. “D-Do you think that the other one--”

“You wouldn’t have gotten that offer if it wasn’t serious,” Aizawa says before Izuku can finish his thought, can ask if it might have been out of pity or for publicity. Aizawa frowns, suddenly, then drops his hand to rest on Izuku’s forehead.

“Midoriya, why are you running a fever?” Aizawa asks, his eyes narrowing, and Izuku smiles nervously, feeling his face turn red as he looks to the side.  _ I’m caught. _

“Um, n-no reason!” he squeaks, and Aizawa raises an eyebrow at him very, very slowly. “I-I’m not sick, I swear!” He takes a step back, trying to put some distance between them. Aizawa takes a deep breath, shutting his eyes as he breathes out through his nose.

“What is the  _ one thing _ I have tried to impress on you about training, since the beginning?” Aizawa asks, glaring at Izuku.

“Always try my best?” Izuku tries, and Aizawa’s eyes flash red for just a second.

“No,” Aizawa says, growling. “It’s that you need to  _ tell someone _ if you’re injured or sick. It’s that hero work is  _ dangerous _ and knowing your own limits is  _ vital _ .” He brings a hand up to his temples, grimacing like he’s trying to hold himself back from strangling Izuku. “You’re going to give me early grey hairs, Midoriya.”

Izuku wraps his arms around himself. “S-Sorry?” he offers, looking up at his teacher. Aizawa just sighs, rolling his eyes. 

“Don’t apologize, just  _ tell me _ next time. You’re not going to get over whatever bug you have if you keep training with it.” He pulls his phone out, glancing at it. “Recovery Girl should still be here. She can’t use her quirk to cure illnesses, but she’s still a doctor.” He sticks his phone back in his pocket. “Come on. I’ll walk you over.”

Izuku blinks. “O-Oh, you don’t need to, I--” Aizawa cuts him off. 

“If I let you go on your own, you’d probably end up skipping Recovery Girl’s office and training in the other gym,” Aizawa drawls, then glances at Izuku’s shoes and socks. “Put those back on. I’m going to go get my umbrella from the back.” He waits to leave until Izuku sits on the bench and reaches under, grabbing his socks. Izuku watches his teacher walk over in the direction of the locker rooms, not sure of what to think. 

\--

After classes the next day, Izuku stands outside the teacher’s lounge, his hands shaking a little as he pushes the door open, the handle cool under his skin. He steps inside and Midnight looks up at him, smiling before going back to her work. 

“Aizawa’s in the back,” she says. Izuku’s not shocked; he comes here about once or twice a week to eat lunch. He’s not here to talk to Aizawa, though.

“Actually, um.” Izuku shifts nervously when Midnight looks back up at him, a curious look on her face. “Is All Might here?”

Midnight blinks, then gives an apologetic smile. “Ah, sorry kid, but he’s--” Izuku interrupts her.

“I-I know about his other form,” he says, and Midnight starts at that. 

“Oh, you do?” She smiles. “He’s in his own office, on the far left side of this room. The door should say Yagi on it. Knock first, since he keeps it locked.” She glances down at her papers, but the smile stays on her lips. “By the way, congratulations on second place. You did amazing.” Izuku squeaks out a mumbled and incoherent thank you, his face turning red. He scrambles part her as she giggles at him, walking quickly to the side of the room that she’d directed him to. 

All Might’s office door is plain except for the yellow curtain on the other side of the small window, blocking Izuku from seeing inside but letting enough light through to show that the lights are on in the small room. The nameplate beside the doorway reads Toshinori Yagi. Izuku swallows and raps on the door. He hears a small commotion from inside, then the door handle makes a clicking noise before the door opens inward, All Might’s skeletal face peeking out. All Might blinks, then smiles, opening the door.

“Midoriya,” he says, gesturing for Izuku to walk inside. “I’d been wondering if I’d be hearing from you soon, my boy.” Izuku blinks at the room, a plain office with a yellow couch in the back of the room. A boy with big eyes and yellow-blonde hair grins back at him from where he’s seated on the couch. There’s also a desk with a cushy office chair that’s pointed toward the couch. Izuku blinks as the pieces fit together.

“Oh! A-All Might, if you were in the middle of something, I-I can come back,” he says, his voice catching in his throat. All Might simply shakes his head.

“No, no. Young Mirio and I were just chitchatting, nothing important,” All Might answers, and Mirio or whoever nods, smiling and standing up from the couch. 

“I’m Mirio Toogata,” he says, offering Izuku a hand. “I have a feeling I’ll be seeing a lot more of you.” Izuku swallows nervously and shakes his hand. He has no idea what  _ that _ means, but he doesn’t sense any malice coming from Toogata, so he supposes it’s okay. 

“I’ll see you later, sensei,” Toogata says, stepping out of the office with a small wave. All Might nods to him, and the older student steps out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him. Izuku swallows, shifting uncomfortably as All Might looks over him.

“Have a seat,” All Might says, waving at the couch as he lowers himself into his office chair. “How have you been? I’d heard that you were ill after the sports festival.” Izuku bites his lip and sits on the couch, feeling awkward.

“Um, I-I’m feeling much better,” he answers, and it’s partially true. After another night of rest, the tingling in his fingers and toes has faded into a dull numbness, and he’s not throwing up blood any more, just his meals. He’s still got a fever, but according to the thermometer he’d borrowed from his mom, it’s gone down a little. He feels a lot more awake, a lot steadier. 

“Good, good,” All Might nods approvingly, and Izuku feels himself start to turn red because even if he looks different, this is  _ still All Might _ , the number one hero. Izuku’s idol, his favorite hero since he was a kid. Even though right now, not that he’d admit it out loud, his favorite hero is probably Eraserhead, Izuku has still spent most of his life fanboying over All Might, and now he’s in the man’s office receiving concern and praise. Izuku thinks he might spontaneously combust.

“Now,” All Might says, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands. “What can I do for you?”

Izuku swallows, takes a steadying breath. “I-I’d like to ask you about your offer.” He forces himself to meet All Might’s blue eyes. “Y-Your internship offer.”

All Might nods, not looking surprised. “What questions do you have about it?” 

“Are you offering because you mean it,” Izuku asks, hating himself for saying the words, “or because you feel bad for telling me I couldn’t be a hero, back then?” He watches as All Might blinks, then sighs, straightening up and dropping his hands into his lap.

“It’s not out of pity, if that’s what you’re asking,” All Might says, his gaze on the floor. “And though I do feel guilty for that, it’s not the only reason I’d sent the offer. No, I was genuinely impressed by your performance.” Izuku bites his lip, letting a little bubble of hope rise in his chest, just barely.

“But,” All Might says, looking up to meet Izuku’s gaze. “If you are considering the offer--no, even if you aren’t--there’s something I should tell you.” Izuku swallows, takes in the serious look on his face. “I was once quirkless, too, young Midoriya.”

“What?” Izuku asks, barely more than a startled gasp. He can’t tear his eyes away from the man’s face, even as he feels his jaw dropping. 

All Might nods. “I was a late bloomer,” he says, dropping his gaze to look at his hand as he holds it in front of him. “My quirk didn’t manifest until I was fourteen years old. In my time, quirklessness was a lot more common, so I’m sure I had an easier time of it than you did, but...” He closes his hand into a fist. “It was wrong of me to dismiss you like that. I know what it’s like to be told you are nothing because you don’t have a quirk. I suppose some part of me, deep down, still believed that it was true.” He looks back up at Izuku, a serious set to his face. “Midoriya, you have proved me wrong. I have no doubt in my mind now that you will be the first quirkless hero.”

Izuku opens his mouth to reply, but he can’t say anything. He can’t stop himself when he throws himself at All Might, wrapping his arms around the man’s bony frame and burying his face in All Might’s shoulder ass he starts to cry. He feels All Might lowly relax underneath him, gently setting a hand on his back and giving him a few awkward pats.

“Midoriya..?” he asks, hesitant. “Are you alright, my boy?” He sounds concerned.

“Y-Yeah,” Izuku says, pulling away from him, embarrassed. “I-I’m sorry, I just--you have no idea how much that means to me,” he says, wiping tears away from his eyes and sitting back down on the couch.  _ All Might is like me. All Might is like  _ me _ , he didn’t get his quirk until fourteen, same as me. My hero is like me! _

All Might smiles, his teeth shining. “I think I can make a good guess,” he says, his eyes crinkling with his grin. “Now, about the internship, are you--”

Izuku shakes his head, cutting All Might off. “I-I’d love to, but...” He glances at the ground. “Do you really have time for that?” he asks, voice small. “Aizawa-sensei told me your limit has dropped to an hour a day.”

All Might sighs. “Yes, it has. And you’re right, I suppose. I don’t have time to give you the internship you deserve.” When Izuku glances up, he looks a little embarrassed. “To tell you the truth, I expected you to say no. I actually have a different offer for you, if you’re willing.” Izuku blinks.

“What is it?” He asks, tipping his head slightly to the side. 

“I have been training Mirio on the side,” All Might explains. “He suddenly and unexpectedly manifested a second quirk, one that is completely different from his first one, but is... similar, in a few ways, to mine.” Izuku blinks. “I would like to ask you if you would be interested in joining a few of our training sessions, perhaps once or twice a week,” All Might says, holding his hands out with his palms open. “I could also write you a workout and diet plan, if it would be useful to you. I’ve noticed that you’re in better shape than when we met on that rooftop, but there’s always room for improvement.”

Izuku is nodding furiously before All Might even finishes speaking. “Yes!” he chirps, his voice an excited squeak. “Yes, All Might, please that would be  _ so  _ amazing! You’re like, my favorite hero and I can’t believe that you’d really do that for me, and oh god you’re like me, or you were anyway, and--” All Might laughs, a bright chuckle, and Izuku cuts himself off, his face flushing.

“I’m glad to hear it, Young Midoriya. You can call me Yagi in this form, by the way. It’ll help keep me undercover,” he says, winking, and Izuku nods.

“Yes sir, Yagi-sensei!” Izuku smiles, the motion stretching his cheeks. “Can I ask you for advice on something?” 

All Might nods, smiling. “Of course! What is it?” Izuku reaches into his backpack, fishing around for his draft letter. He pulls out the paper, neatly folded in its envelope, and takes it out, pressing out the creases before he passes it to All Might.

“Um, other than you, I only actually got t-two offers,” Izuku says, biting at his lower lip. “One of them is, well... You and one of them are from the top ten, so I was thinking if not you, I’d take that offer.” All Might hums thoughtfully, then looks up at Izuku. 

“You should accept that one, my boy,” All Might says with a smile. “I think it speaks to how impressive your performance at the festival was that you were given this offer at all.” He hands the piece of paper back to Izuku. “You have a few days to think on it if you need, and I’d suggest asking Aizawa since he has been your mentor all this time, but I think it’d be an excellent fit for you.” 

Izuku grins brightly, taking the paper and staring down at the offers. There’s All Might’s, one from a small agency that focused on inclusiveness and diversity, and... the one he’lll be accepting. Izuku folds the paper up neatly, just like it was before, and slides it into the envelope before tucking it into his backpack. 

“Thank you, Yagi-sensei,” he says, something happy and warm swelling in his voice.

“Of course, my boy,” All Might replies, his eyes crinkling around the edges. “Will Sunday afternoon work for you? For training,” he clarifies. Izuku nods quickly.

“Yes!” He tightens his hands into fists to stop himself from jumping up and down in excitement.

All Might chuckles. “Good. I’ll see you at gym gamma, then. I’ll have Mirio text you the details,” he says, and Izuku thinks he might just explode from joy. The entire walk to the train station, he skips rather than walks, his chest bubbling with happiness that he doesn’t think he’s ever really felt before. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inb4 "what about tensei" shhh im getting to that keep in mind that iida in canon tries to brush it off as well
> 
> ANYWAY i hope u enjoyed!! and yes writing fluff makes me cry esp bc izuku so badly needs love and care
> 
> thank you for all da support!!! it means the WORLD to me
> 
> customary discord link: https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt


	25. before the internships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku got a badly needed hug from all might, who he'll start training with soon!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI FOLKS im gonna be moving into the dorm tomorrow so there mayyy not be an update but i will still try to get one out! i hope you enjoy this <3

“Oh yeah,” Kirishima says, turning to look at Izuku where he’s putting on his sneakers. “You didn’t ever pick a hero name, did you?” Kirishima is half naked, his sports uniform pants on but nothing covering his bare chest. Izuku’s already changed, going to the bathroom stalls in the locker room when he’d done it. The boy’s locker room now is filled with class 1-A, everyone in varying states of dress and undress. Izuku always feels a little awkward about not actually changing in front of the others, but he’s certainly not the only one. Todoroki, Aoyama, and Shouji all change in private as well, so at least he’s not alone.

“Hey, earth to Midoriya!” Kirishima says, grinning and waving a hand in front of Izuku’s face. “You started mumbling again, bro.” Izuku feels his face heat slightly in embarrassment.

“O-Oh, sorry,” he says, looking back at his shoes to tie the laces. “What did you ask?”

“I was wondering if you’d picked a hero name, since you were sick when we picked them in class,” Kirishima explains. “You’re sure you feel better? You looked like you were gonna puke, man, and I dunno about you but I hate working out if I don’t feel my best.” 

Izuku nods. “I-I’m okay now,” he says, putting his feet on the floor of the locker room and standing up, stretching. “I have a name in mind, actually,” he tells Kirishima, looking over as Kirishima tugs his sports top on, ruffling his gelled hair. He’s glad that his classmates had all just assumed he was sick the other day. Neither Aizawa nor Todoroki had corrected them, thank goodness. Izuku isn’t sure he’d be able to explain why he went to cry in the bathroom of all things.

“Really?” Kirishima grins at him. “Let’s hear it!” Izuku glances around and sees Kaminari and Sero are both obviously listening. Kacchan is off to the side, already dressed, sitting on the edge of a bench pointedly not looking at them. Izuku is sure he’s listening.

“Um, I was thinking that I’d just go with Deku, actually,” Izuku says, looking down at the ground. He can see the edges of the lockers in his vision, a grey that’s two shader bluer than that of the floor. 

“Isn’t that like... a mean nickname?” Kaminari asks, and when Izuku looks up at him his head is tipped slightly to the side.

“I-It was,” Izuku admits, fidgeting with his hands. “But, um, I think I’m going to use it to mean more like the Deku that can do anything, you know?” He smiles a little bit. “I think it’s nice to make it my own.” He hears Kacchan snort as he stands up and stomps out of the locker room, not even looking at Izuku. 

“Hey, that’s super manly, though,” Kirishima says, grinning. “I like it. Didya hear mine yet?” 

Izuk shakes his head. “I haven’t heard any of them,” he answers. “Well, except for Uraraka’s and Tsuyu’s,” he corrects, since they’d told him at lunch that day. 

“C’mon, we’re going to be late,” Sero says, jerking a finger towards the door that leads to the gym. “We can tell him while we’re working out.” Kirishima and Kaminari both nod, and Izuku does, too. Sero goes first, heading out the way Kacchan went, with the rest of them trailing behind him as they walk out into Gym Beta. 

“Mine’s Taping Hero, Cellophane,” Sero says, glancing back at Izuku as they walk out onto the mats. “It’s pretty simple, really.” Izuku nods.

“It fits, and it works with your surname too!” He chirps in reply, and Sero beams a smile at him. 

“Yours is a pun on your given name,” Sero says, grinning. “We’re kind of twinning, aren’t we?” Izuku spots Ashido walking over to them before she speaks, a grin on her face.

“Oh, what are you guys twinning with?” Ashido asks, her hair clipped up out of her face with matching blue hair pins. “Are we finally getting to know Midoriya’s hero name?”

“Yeah, it’s--” Kaminari starts, but Kirishima elbows him, cutting him off.

“Dude,” he hisses, “let Midoriya tell her!” Kirishima looks at Izuku expectantly. Actually, they’re all looking at him. Izuku feels his face start to flush again. 

“Um, it’s Deku,” he says nervously, but he feels better when Ashido grins at him. 

“Nice! I was gonna pick Alien Queen, but I went with Pinky instead since Midnight said no to the first one,” Ashido says, resting one hand on her hip. “Have the boys all told you theirs yet?”

“Just me,” Sero says. “I think he’s really gonna like Kirishima’s, though.”

“Wait,” Kaminari says. “Let me say mine first, otherwise they’re going to be fanboying and I won’t get a chance.” His voice has a bit of a whining tone to it, but Izuk thinks it’s joking. “I’m going with Chargebolt!”

“That’s super cool!” Izuku says, nodding. Kaminari looks pleased with himself. Kirishima grins from next to him.

“Okay, so,” he starts, looking at Izuku, “I’m gonna go with Red Riot.” He pauses, and Izuku blinks.

“O-Oh,” he says, a smile forming on his face. “Like Crimson--”

“Yeah!” Kirishima says, bouncing on his feet. “I knew he’d get it! Like Crimson Riot, since he’s like my favorite hero of all time.” He turns to walk backwards as they head into the main part of the gym, where Aizawa is waiting for them, looking bored. 

“I’m surprised,” Izuku says to him. “He’s not as well known as a lot of other heroes, even though he’s super cool.” Kirishima nods, still grinning wide.

“Yeah, I like his whole manly spirit thing!” Kirishima says, flexing one arm. Sero snorts. 

“Yeah, we could tell from the fact that you use ‘manly’ to describe everything you like,” Sero says, rolling his eyes with a grin. “Even if it’s something that definitely can’t be literally manly.” Kirishima pouts, still walking backwards. 

“Aw, man, I’ve explained this to you already! It’s less about being manly like that and more about like, living your life without regrets and not letting your fears control you,” Kirishima grins, looking at Izuku. “Like how Midoriya fought in the Sports Festival! Like, talk about not being afraid. He walked right through Todoroki’s fire and then  _ bit _ Bakubro, like  _ dude _ ,” Kirishima mimes chomping at the air, and Sero bursts out in laughter, copying the motion. 

“You should make your hero name the chomper or something,” Sero says, elbowing Izuku. “You really like biting people, huh?” Izuku flushes red, knowing that he’s bitten Sero, too, even if Sero doesn’t remember.

“I-It’s a good tactic!” He says, watching Kirishima giggle and Sero mime wiping tears away from his eyes. “It surprises people, a-and it works!” 

“Yeah,” Kaminari says, a grin on his face. “I don’t see you trying that move on me any time soon,” he snickers. “You’d get  _ fried _ !” 

“Well,” Ashido cuts in, “Midoriya’s already proven he doesn’t care if he gets hurt in battle. We all saw him walk like,  _ directly _ through literal fire to punch Todoroki in the face.” She’s grinning, looking at Izuku.

“It was fucking stupid,” Kacchan says, and Izuku whips his head to the side, where Kacchan is standing with his arms folded over his chest and a scowl on his face. “What the fuck would he have done if he hadn’t gotten lucky with his punch?” Izuku blinks.

“I-I...” Izuku can’t exactly say,  _ probably killed myself, considering that’s what I did all the times I didn’t win _ , or,  _ I actually knew sort of how the battle would go, since it wasn’t my first one, _ and he also can’t say  _ I’m immune to dying, so getting hurt isn’t the same for me _ . Instead, he just stares at Kacchan, trying to form words with his mouth.

“Bakugou is right,” Aizawa says, stepping forward and putting a hand on Kirishima’s shoulder to stop him from walking backward directly into a cable machine. “That tactic would not have worked well in battle with a real villain.” His gaze slides over to Izuku, who gives him a sheepish smile. “Recklessness will get you killed if you’re not careful,” he says, and Izuku can see Ashido and Kirishima pouting out of the corner of his eyes, but he’s more focused on Aizawa’s slightly narrowed eyes. 

“R-Right,” Izuku says, dropping his gaze to the floor. The gym is silent for a second, before Todoroki’s voice pipes up.

“I don’t think Midoriya was as reckless as he appeared,” Todoroki says, and when Izuku looks at him, his head is tipped to the side thoughtfully. “He knew my fighting style well, and he seemed aware of the limitations of my quirk. I had assumed he had known I was weakened and that his punch would be sufficient to knock me out.” Todoroki looks over at Aizawa. “I’m sure you noticed the way he was reading my moves. Is that something you taught him to do?”

Aizawa raises an eyebrow. “It isn’t,” he says, then slides his gaze over to Izuku. “Midoriya  _ is _ good at reading his opponents,” he says, something underlying his voice, “but that doesn’t mean he isn’t also reckless.” Izuku shuffles uneasily under his gaze. 

“If Midoriya was reckless, I was just foolish,” Yaoyorozu says, sighing and holding up her hand. There’s not even a scar, but Izuku remembers where the deep cut had been. He shivers thinking about it as she looks at the back of her hand, and Aizawa sighs.

“You’re all still learning,” he says. “I don’t expect you to have perfect sense in your first year.” He turns, putting a hand on the cable machine. “Now, for class today, All Might is busy so I’ll be supervising while you work out. I’ve been told you all already have assigned plans, but if you need a spot or someone to show you proper form, I’ll be around.” He glances at Izuku briefly. “You can all get started,” he says. “Midoriya, I’d like a word with you first.” Izuku swallows nervously as his classmates look at him, then start to disperse. Kirishima walks past him, setting a hand on his upper arm as he does. 

“Good luck, dude,” he whispers with a comforting smile, and Izuku does his best to return it. He watches Kirishima’s back as the boy walks over to a squat rack. Izuku can feel his heart start to flutter in his chest, but he does his best to squash his nerves. He glances back over to Aizawa, only to see Kacchan in the background, clearly watching from where he’s doing aggressive bicep curls. He’s glaring at Izuku, red eyes glued to Izuku’s face. Izuku forces himself to take a deep breath.

Aizawa looks at him, then sighs. “No, you’re not in trouble,” he says, folding his arms over his chest. “I wanted to ask how you’re feeling. Are you still running a fever?” Izuku blinks.

“I-I don’t think so,” he says, shrugging. “I feel better, though...” It’s true, anyway. He doesn’t even have the headache, which he’d been starting to think might be permanent. It had finally started to fade last night, when he’d laid down to sleep. The nausea had gone away a couple of days ago, and with it the stomach pain. Now, the only thing that lingers is a slight fatigue, a little lingering exhaustion that really only hits him at the end of the day. It’s something he might not even notice if he wasn’t looking for it.

“Good,” Aizawa says, looking him over. “Will you tell me if you start to feel ill again?” he asks, tapping his fingers against his arm and giving Izuku a serious look.

Izuku nods, swallowing. “I-I’ll try,” he says, and it seems to be good enough for his teacher, because Aizawa nods and lets him go work out with the rest of the class.

\--

The street is cool and silent when Izuku finally, finally feels well enough to go out again. He’d wanted to go out as Ace anyway, but he’d decided the risk of someone--Aizawa--noticing his illness and connecting the dots was too high. It’s later than he’d normally go, too, but only because he’d been watching the recordings from the second and third years sports festivals and had lost track of time. 

The rain has finally stopped, but the ground is still cool and wet, the air scented like ozone and damp earth. It’s a humid night, Izuku’s breath catching on the dampened fabric of his mask when he breathes in, but he doesn’t mind it. It’s just nice to be out on the streets as Ace again, after an entire week off. He’s in his usual area for the night, the soft noises of the city soaking into his bones. 

As he walks along a rooftop, the shingles damp and slick under his scuffed up boots, he listens. He can hear the sounds of singing and dancing, the deep thud of bass notes leaking out from buildings, the occasional honk of a car horn. Under that, he can hear the soft chirping of crickets and cicadas, lurking in the grasses that sneak up between the concrete, living in the islands of grass and trees and landscaping among the asphalt and the brick. Izuku loves it here. 

He slips back into his usual rhythm easily, hopping along rooftops and sliding down fire escapes when he needs to cross along the ground. He stops a couple of fights before they even really begin; some of the locals here recognize him on sight, now, and they know better than to try and brawl with him right there. It’s satisfying, when he hops down between two tall men that often fight each other when they both go out for smoke breaks. The skinnier one, a man with long black hair he wears in a bun, lets out a long suffering sigh. 

“God, Ace, I thought you’d finally got caught sneaking out of your daddy’s house or something. Don’t you have anything better to do?” He asks, snuffing out his cigarette on the wet brick of the nightclub he and his friend often frequented. “We’re not gonna fight, go bother someone else.”

His companion, a heavier man with red hair and European features, snarls at him. “Didya decide that all on your own, then? I’m not backing down just because the kid showed up.” He glares at Izuku with green eyes. “I’m gonna bash his stupid head in if he says that bullshit one more time.”

Izuku raises his hands in a placating gesture. “Can’t you two just talk it out with words?” he asks, not for the first time. “I get that it’s very important to you, but--”

“Edgeshot is the best hero and he  _ fucking knows it _ !” The redhead snarls, grabbing the front of his friend’s shirt, tugging him up. The other man just looks bored.

“I’ve told you a thousand times that Ryuukyuu is simply superior,” he says, shrugging. “You’re just bitter that you’re wrong.”

Izuku sighs, pulling out one of his knives. “Do I really need to intervene  _ again _ ?” he asks, holding the knife up so the light of the building’s windows glints off of it. “Last time you two fought you caused  _ three  _ car accidents. You really, really shouldn’t fight when neither of you can control your quirks.” It’s kind of fun, scolding them, especially when the redhead drops his friend and groans dramatically.

“Fine! You win, pipsqueak.” He looks over to Izuku, glaring. “I’ll have you know I can control my quirk just fine when I’m sober.”

“Me too,” the other one chimes in, looking put out. “And it’s really not my fault that people can’t drive in heavy fog. That’s like, a totally reasonable weather condition. They should know how to do it.” He pouts, and Izuku rolls his eyes, moving his head with the motion so that the two men can tell he’s doing it even with the goggles.

“Then beat each other up sober?” he suggests, and the redhead opens his mouth to reply, but Izuku interrupts. “Sorry guys, but I want to stop some actual villains tonight,” he says, sheathing his knife. “You’ll behave?”

“Yeah, I guess,” the skinnier one says, huffing out a heavy sigh. “I can’t believe we take orders from a middle schooler.”

“Hey!” Izuku protests as he starts climbing the fire escape. “I’m in high school!”

“That’s what a middle schooler would say!” One of them calls up at him before they dissolve into giggles. Izuku smiles behind his mask as he climbs back onto the roof, the movements instinctual at this point. He can hear them bickering as he runs along the roof, but he doesn’t hear any actual fighting, so he’ll take it. He starts off along the rooftops, headed toward the edge of his usual patrol route. He’s almost halfway done with the normal path, and the moon is high in the sky, a thin silver claw nestled among the stars. 

Izuku sees them before he hears them, skittering to a halt on a flat, concrete rooftop. There’s a break between buildings here, but no actual alley or street leading to the tiny, rectangular space, so the gap is pretty much inaccessible, and Izuku’s gotten used to seeing it on his path. What he hasn’t seen before, though, is two women standing in the gap, talking to each other. 

One of them is Leadfoot, who Izuku recognizes immediately. She’s in her customary outfit, although the shirt under her suit jacket is a different color than usual, a pale lavender. She’s standing with her hands on her hands and an annoyed twist to her mouth as the woman in front of her babbles incoherently. The other woman has red hair, bright blood red like Kirishima’s, and it’s up in high pigtails that fall to just below her shoulders. She’d dressed somewhat like Leadfoot, with a grey suit jacket and a pink dress shirt underneath, but her jacket is unbuttoned and she isn’t wearing a tie. Instead of slacks, she’s wearing what looks like a school uniform skirt, the same shade of grey as her jacket, and a pair of knee high socks that are striped pink and white. Even with only a thin strip of her thighs showing between the socks and skirt, Izuku can see countless cuts on her legs, parallel horizontal marks that he knows all too well. In one hand, she’s holding a metal baseball bat that’s scuffed and dented in places. 

Izuku swallows down a swell of something strange as he presses himself to the roof, just barely peeking over to watch them. The red haired girl looks younger than Leadfoot, but that may just be because she doesn’t wear a mask. Her eyes are bright amber, almost glowing in the light, and they look strange. Izuku frowns, squinting to see, and he thinks her pupils might not be the usual shape, but he can’t tell, not from this distance.  _ Her quirk? _

“Can you  _ please _ shut up,” Leadfoot says, huffing and folding her arms over her chest. “I don’t even know why you asked to meet with me, if you’re like this. Have you even been out on a mission today?”

The other girl hums, swinging her arms back and forth at her side. “Nope! But I got bored, so I went clubbing,” she says, voice sing-song. There’s a thin white scar on the side of her cheek, Izuku notices, bent by the wide smile on her face. 

“That’s...” Leadfoot raises a hand like she’s going to massage between her eyes, but stops when she touches her mask, dropping the hand. “You’re too irresponsible. I’ve already told you that Eraserhead and Nighteye are onto us. I don’t need you getting caught because you wanted to party or whatever.” 

The younger girl hums. “It’s more about the drugs, you know that!” She says, giggling. Izuku thinks it makes sense that she’s high, given the way she’s fidgeting, moving strangely. 

“I really, really do not understand why you need to do drugs, considering...” She trails off, shaking her head. “Whatever. What did you need me for, exactly?”

“I have a lead!” The girl chirps, leaning forward and grabbing onto Leadfoot’s upper arm, her fingers crinkling the fabric. “Oh, or should I say a  _ lead, _ ” she says it like the metal, “get it? Because of your quirk?”

Leadfoot sighs, audible even to Izuku. “Yes, thank you Manami, I get it.” She swats at Manami, and the younger girl hops back easily, giggling. “What’s the lead?”

“Shiggy is gonna meet with the diplomatic team soon, hm?” She says, spinning in a slow circle, head tipped up to the sky. Izuku ducks back to avoid being spotted. 

“I know that. I’m  _ on _ that team,” Leadfoot says, sounding annoyed. Izuku hides behind the raised edge of the roof, not willing to peek over again just yet. 

“Yeah, but didya know that I’m getting a special mission if it goes as planned?” Manami asks, laughter distorting her voice. “They want me to talk to that other guy.”

“That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard,” Leadfoot says, sounding incredulous. “You can’t even do recon without touching people. You used your quirk on four people last time we sent you to get  _ groceries _ , for crying out loud. They want  _ you _ to negotiate with a third party?” 

“It’s because I’m still a well-kept secret, silly!” Manami sings, and Izuku looks over just in time to see her reach for Leadfoot’s face. Leadfoot slaps her hand away.

“You  _ are _ , but it won’t take long for the police to piece that shit together if you get caught using your stupid quirk on even one person.” Leadfoot groans, resting her masked face in her hands. “Your brother is such a fucking idiot, Manami. He’s going to get us all killed by a bunch of freaks.”

“At least it won’t be by the cops!” Manami replies, giggling. “That’s not the lead I had, anyway, that’s just new.” Leadfoot pulls her face out of her hands, folding her arms over her chest. Manami taps the baseball bat against the ground, making a faint metallic noise.

“Are you planning on getting to the point before morning? I have work,” she says, voice full of irritation. Izuku wonders if she has a day job, or if there’s a mission she’s on. He couldn’t follow her, anyway, he has class.

“Your little angel is going to be on a mission soon,” Manami says, and Izuku sees the way Leadfoot stiffens. “It’s a lead I’m supposed to keep secret from you, by the way. She’ll be there, on my brother’s mission. I think she’s spying on us, or something. Her boss might be there, too, but he’s a little too smart for us to catch.” She grins, raising a hand to cover her mouth, giggling. “I’m so excited! It’s gonna make big brother so  _ happy _ !” 

“Of course it is,” Leaddfoot mumbles, her voice hard for Izuku to make out.

“Aw, don’t look so down,” Manami coos, reaching for Leadfoot’s face again. Leadfoot slaps her at the wrist, knocking her hand away. 

“Manami,” she says, warning clear in her voice.

“Sorry!” Manami says, although she doesn’t sound very sorry. “I’m just saying, you’ll get to spend more time with her this way, yeah?” She grins, showing too many teeth. “Maybe she’ll even cooperate!”

“I doubt it,” Leadfoot sighs, kicking at the ground with her boots. “We need to make ourselves scarce,” she says, and Izuku freezes, waiting for her to point him out or look at him or show any sign of seeing him, but she doesn’t.

“Mmhm,” Manami agrees, humming. “I’ll see you tonight?” She asks, tipping her head slightly to the side.

“Kazuo has me tonight,” Leadfoot says, frowning.

“Oh, well, tomorrow then,” Manami says, shrugging. Leadfoot nods, then bends at the knees slightly. Izuku watches as she rises off of the ground, hovering in midair. She’s standing strangely, like she’s balancing, and Izuku swears he sees a faint violet glimmer on the metal of her boots and the bands that have wrapped around her. He scoots back, pressing himself to the concrete and praying she doesn’t look his way as she rises out from the small space between the buildings, floating. 

Mercifully, she doesn’t even glance his way, instead floating away, hands spread slightly at her sides. Izuku can see a faint glow on her rings, too, and something prickles in the back of his mind, but he can’t place it. Regardless, he’s got a pretty good guess as to what her quirk is as he watches her fade into the distance. 

In his fascination, he almost misses when Manami climbs up, her head poking up above the edge of his roof to look straight at him. She blinks, tipping her head to the side, then grins. Izuku can see her pupils, nestled in orange irises, are shaped like tiny hearts. 

“Aww, we have a little fan,” she whispers, hauling herself up onto the roof. Izuku swallows, pulling himself to his feet as she does, settling into a fighting stance. His heart is pumping adrenaline through his body, and his hands are shaking where he grabs for his knives on his belt. 

“I want to get home, so I’ll make this quick,” she says, running her tongue over her teeth and stepping forward. She lifts the baseball bat and grins wide, her gaze on him clearly predatory. “Do you have a preference?”

“What?” Izuku asks, blinking as she steps forward, swinging the bat at him in a wide swipe that he dodges easily.

“Of how I kill, you, silly!” She says, giggling and swinging the baseball bat again. “I can make it a head injury, or I can crush your ribs in. Ooh, if you’re willing to wait a little, I can even strangle you,” She nods, bouncing the baseball bat on the palm of the hand she’s not holding it in. “It’s really up to you.”

Izuku squints, then tips his head slightly to the side. “Is it fine if I do it myself?” he asks, half joking. She raises both her eyebrows. 

“Sure, I guess,” she says, a surprised laugh in her voice. “I’m just confidential, you know?” She steps towards him. “How are you going to do it? Are you gonna jump?” She waves to the roof behind him. “It’s not really high enough, you know.”

“I know,” Izuku replies, then drives his knife into the meat of his arm, slicing through the fabric of his costume. The blood comes out quickly, fueled by the adrenaline fast filling him. Manami’s eyes go wide, and her mouth drops.

“Whoa, I didn’t expect you to actually do it,” she says, blinking. “You’re pretty crazy, kid.” She steps toward Izuku as he switches hands, cutting a matching line in the other arm. “Let me help,” she coos, then raises the baseball bat above her head. Izuku barely has time to glance up before she slams it down onto his head.

\--

The next day in class, Izuku doesn’t even have a headache. He’s grateful for that; he’d been nervous that his reset threshold would be lower after being sick. He’d reset to right after stopping the fight between his two usual problems, so it wasn’t difficult for him to just... take a different route and avoid Leadfoot and Manami altogether. He’d cut the patrol short, trying instead to find Eraserhead, with no luck. It’s annoying, being in class now and having Aizawa asleep at the front of the classroom, but not being able to give him the information he has. 

Izuku’s doodling idly in his notebook, touching up one of his drawings of Present Mic. He’d started it before the sports festival and gotten distracted with training, but at this point it’s pretty much done. He’s really only adding a few small details, like tiny hints of stubble on the parts of Mic-sensei’s face that he shaves, texture to the irises of his eyes. He’s kind of proud of this one, honestly. Maybe he’ll give it to his mom to keep at work. She’s already got a bunch of his of All Might, and it’d be nice to give her some variety. 

“Hey Deku, whatcha doing?” Izuku blinks up at the sound of Uraraka’s voice. She’s leaning over in her desk, looking at him curiously.

“Just drawing,” he says, closing the notebook. “I’ve already done the homeworks..” She nods, not looking surprised.

“Me too! Tsuyu helped me out yesterday, since we weren’t expecting to have study hall today,” she says, smiling. “I’ve been meaning to ask, who did you end up picking for your internship? You never said.” 

Izuku blinks, glancing down at his desk. “I haven’t? I thought I’d at least mentioned it...” He traces his fingers along the metal spiral that binds his notebook together at the seams.

“No, you were sick on that first day and didn’t know yet during homeroom the other day and then people keep getting distracted any time anyone asks!” She says, sighing. “I’ve been  _ dying _ to know. All I know for sure is that it isn’t Gunhead, since he said I’m the only intern at his place.” 

“I’m a bit curious, as well,” Todoroki says from where he’s seated a little bit away, looking over at them with a calm expression. Izuku blinks, fidgeting with his hands.

“Well, um, I only got three offers, and one of them wasn’t... it wasn’t like, a real offer, y’know?” He swallows. “And then another one of them was sort of a publicity thing, I think. Like a charity case.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t--” Uraraka says, but Izuku cuts her off with a shake of his head.

“No, I think it was,” he says, quietly. “So there was really only one option, you know?”

“You could have picked from the general list,” Todoroki points out. “Was it a smaller agency?” He looks confused, maybe. It’s kind of hard to tell.

“It’s not an agency,” Izuku says, shaking his head. “Um, it’s from Mirko,” he murmurs, his face flushing.

“Wait, like the number seven hero Mirko? The Rabbit Hero?” Uraraka asks, her eyes going wide and sparkly. “Oh my gosh, Deku, that’s so cool! With how you were talking, I was worried that you’d gotten somewhere really weird!” She laughs, looking over to Todoroki, who nods.

“It’s impressive,” Todoroki says. “Mirko is known for refusing to work with others. You must have really made an impression.” Izuku bites at his lip nervously.

“I hope it was a good one,” he mumbles, “It’s kind of strange for her to pick me, right? I mean, I’m...” he gestures at himself.

“Wait, are we talking about Midoriya’s internship?” Kaminari twists in his chair to look back at them. “Who’d you decide on?”

“Mirko!” Uraraka answers before Izuku can. “Can you believe it?” Kaminari grins his eyes widening. 

“Dude, no way! That’s awesome,” he leans forward, elbowing Jirou where she sits in front of him. “Jirou, did you hear--”

“Yes, I heard,” Jirou says, sighing before turning to look back at Izuku. “Congratulations, Midoriya.” Izuku blinks.

“T-Thank you,” he stutters out, face flushing yet again. He really wishes it wouldn’t do that. Izuku catches something in the corner of his eye, and he looks over to see Kacchan, staring at him. He’s resting his cheek on his palm, his elbow on the desk, and Izuku blink when Kacchan glares at him, his red eyes narrowing slightly before he glances away. Izuku takes a deep breath, the glances back at Uraraka just as she starts talking again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: brief mention of self harm scars
> 
> i hope you enjoyed! tysm for all of the support!! i hope nobody is too disappointed with my choice in the internship! more will be explained later ofc, i just didn't want to keep yall on a cliffhanger for the next one or two days hahah
> 
> discord: https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt


	26. internship, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku overheard leadfoot and a new villain, manami, talking about potentially working with shigaraki. izuku also tells his friends about his internship placement and his hero name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GUYS im in the dorm as we speak... sorry this is so late in the day, but im honestly just happy to finish it at all!! i am so so excited for this arc aaaaaa i love mirko and i love this bit in canon so :3c

Izuku steps into the gym, nervously checking his phone for the hundredth time to make sure that he has the right time and place. It’s windy and warm, and Izuku had made sure to get all of his assignments out of the way yesterday so that he could be here without worrying about getting his homework done in time. Toogata had texted him all of the details the day they met, telling Izuku to wear his sports uniform or workout gear and to bring plenty of water. He’d said that All Might would be in his skeletal form most if not all of the time, and when Izuku glances around the gym, it’s easy to spot All Might and Toogata standing next to each other, chatting about something. 

“H-Hi,” Izuku says, giving them an awkward wave. Toogata perks up, turning to look at him just as All Might raises his head and gives Izuku a gentle smile. 

“Hi, Midoriya!” Toogata calls, returning his wave. “I’m glad you could make it! I watched your footage from the sports festival, and oh boy am I excited to spar with you.” He walks over to meet Izuku as he approaches. He’s dressed in his sports uniform, like Izuku, but it’s a little embarrassing how much _bigger_ Toogata is than him. Izuku can see muscle rippling under the tight fabric of the uniform top, and Toogata is easily half a foot taller than him, if not more. 

“I-I saw your competition, t-too,” Izuku squeaks, trying to reign in his stutter and failing horribly. “You did a-amazingly!” Toogata grins even wider, waving a hand like he’s dismissing the compliment.

“Thank you, but it’s not as impressive as what you managed as a first year. I can certainly see why All Might is so interested in you!” He looks over his shoulder at All Might, who’s just watching them. Izuku smiles awkwardly, and he prays his face just _feels_ hot and that it isn’t actually going red. 

“Yes, well,” All Might says, walking over to where Toogata and Izuku are standing. “I thought for today it would be good to have the two of you spar.” All Might looks at Toogata as his face lights up, then glances back to Izuku. “I know that you probably get a lot of combat training with Aizawa, young Midoriya, and you clearly have exceptional battle sense, but with Mirio’s quirk it will be... different, let’s say.”

“His new quirk?” Izuku asks. “Or his old one? I watched the tapes a few times, and I really only saw the one that lets him pass through objects. It’s really powerful, but you said that his second quirk was different from his old one, so I didn’t think that the thing where he popped out of the ground could be it,” Izuku pauses, putting a finger to his chin. “Is it something subtle? Maybe regeneration, since he didn’t get hurt at the festival in the first place, so I wouldn’t have--”

“I didn’t have it yet at the festival,” Toogata cuts in with a laugh. “Wow, you’re really smart. No wonder you’re so good at fighting.” Izuku realizes what he’d been doing and stares at the ground, embarrassed. 

“S-Sorry,” he stammers. “I know it’s creepy, I just--”

“Don’t apologize!” Toogata says, shaking his head. “It’s not creepy, it’s cool. And my new quirk is super strength, by the way. All Might is training me since it’s a lot like his!” He grins, tipping his head to his mentor.

“Yes, that’s right,” All Might says, coughing into his hand. “Young Mirio has been training with me since his second quirk manifested, but I am unable to spar with him in this form, and my time in my other form is limited,” he explains. “So, if you don’t mind, young Midoriya, today will really be more of a favor to me. I apologize for that.”

Izuku shakes his head, blinking at All Might. “It’s no problem!” He says, smiling slightly. “I-I still need practice, and any kind of training with you is already so amazing.” He glances at Toogata. “And, um, Toogata-senpai is really impressive, too, so learning from him would just be so awesome.” He tries not to end up mumbling or blabbering on, and he thinks it works, because he manages to stop himself before someone else has to say something and stop him. 

“Mirio,” Toogata says with a grin. “You can call me Mirio, if you’re okay with that.” Izuku blinks, then nods, smiling.

“Um, you can call me Deku, then!” He says, and Mirio blinks at him.

“Deku?” He twists his mouth to the side, like he’s thinking. “Like, Deku? Isn’t that kind of insulting?” Izuku shakes his head, still smiling.

“It’s my hero name!” He grins, glancing at All Might out of the corner of his eye. “I like it.” Izuku looks back to Mirio, who nods and gives him a thumbs up.

“Well, as long as you like it, that’s what matters,” he says, grinning brightly. “Now, let’s spar!” He steps back, into a fighting stance, and Izuku does the same, a smile tugging at his lips.

\--

It’s a sunny day when they finally go to their internships. Izuku is nervous, even with all of the excitement and bubbling happiness from his friends, even with the way Uraraka and Tsuyu keep insisting that it’ll go great. Izuku is clutching his costume case in his arms, fidgeting nervously in his uniform. It’s starting to get a little too warm for the blazers, but Izuku isn’t about to take his off, not when he’s wearing a short sleeved shirt underneath. 

“Alright, everyone has their costumes?” Aizawa looks over them, all in various states of anxiety and excitement. “Be sure to mind your manners,” he says, his gaze seeming to linger on Kacchan where he stands off to the side. 

“Sure thing!” Ashido shouts, grinning, and Aizawa sighs. 

“Please address your internship mentors as sir or ma’am,” he reminds her, and she rolls her eyes, still grinning.

“Yes sir,” she says, giggling. Aizawa looks over them one final time. 

“Remember that you all have my number in case something happens. Listen to your mentors, and don’t do anything stupid.” He seems to look at Izuku extra long on that one, which Izuku thinks is fair, all things considered. “Alright. You can go,” he says, waving them off. Around Izuku, his friends start to move, opening maps and looking at train schedules. Izuku sighs, turning to Uraraka and Iida where they’re standing beside him. Iida is already turned, though starting to walk away.

“Iida?” Izuku calls, and his friend turns back to look at him, his expression that same solemn one that he’s had too often lately. Iida’s still been eating lunch with them, still been talking and doing his duties as class president, but... he’s been quieter. More withdrawn. Less enthusiastic. It hurts Izuku’s heart. He meets Iida’s eyes.

“If you need someone to talk to,” he says, giving Iida a small smile. “You can always talk to us.” Uraraka nods beside him. “We’re friends, after all.” Iida looks at him, his gaze cool. A small smile quirks up at the edge of his lips. 

“Sure,” he says, barely more than a whisper, and he turns, walking away. Izuku watches his back, wondering if he’d really say something, if he needed to.

“Deku,” Uraraka says, and Izuku turns back to look at her. “Which station are you going to?” She still looks worried, but Izuku doesn’t press it. He is, too, so it’d be hypocritical to try and reassure her.

“Ah, I’m meeting her in Tokyo,” Izuku says, reaching into his pocket to pull out a map Mirko had sent him in the mail. “She doesn’t have an agency, so she just wants to meet me at these coordinates,” he says, pointing to the spot on the map and showing Uraraka. “I looked it up, and I’m pretty sure it’s a park.”

Uraraka nods, giving him a small smile. “We’re taking different trains, then,” she says, looking sad. “Ugh, is it weird that I’m nervous?” She fidgets with the handle to her costume case. “I mean, what if we don’t get along?”

Izuku gives her a smile. “I’m sure you will!” He says. “You’re easy to get along with. Gunhead would have to be worse than Kacchan to not like you.” She giggles a little at that. 

“Right,” she says, then nudges him in the side with an elbow. “You’ll text me and tell me how it goes?” 

He nods. “I will! You have to text me, too,” he replies, and they both smile. He hesitates for a moment, then leans forward and hugs her with one arm, the other still holding his costume suitcase. She returns the hug easily, her body warm against his. 

“Be safe, okay Deku?” She whispers in his ear, and he pulls back, smiling. 

“You too, Uravity,” he says, and her grin gets even wider at her hero name. She turns, waving at him as she walks towards his station. Izuku takes a deep breath, then starts toward his own. 

\--

When Izuku steps out from the train station and into the bright sunlight, it’s only been about an hour and a half. The ride itself passed too quickly, and Izuku isn’t sure he’s really ready to face Mirko. His chest feels like it's pressurized, like everything is wound up and ready to spring. He’s not entirely sure what’s making him feel this way, if it’s the fact that he’s quirkless and he’s meeting with the number seven hero or if it’s the fact that said hero never works with others, always refusing to except when absolutely necessary. It’s a reputation that he’s all too aware of, and in the back of his mind, there’s still the idea that maybe, maybe this is all a cruel joke. 

It’s a nice day, objectively, but as Izuku walks along the sidewalk, as the sun shines onto the concrete where shadows of the many people walking don’t block it, he can feel his heart climbing up into his throat. It’s both excitement and anxiety all in one, he thinks, but it’s hard for him to process how he’s feeling when his head keeps going slightly fuzzy, like he’s zoning out in class except he’s walking to what is quite possibly the most important thing he’s done yet for his career. 

He keeps trying to make himself focus fully, to bring himself to the present, but it doesn’t work. He tries to listen to the bustle of the city around him, tries to bring his mind around to the colors of the city, grey and silver and neon against the blue sky, tries to feel the way his feet are hitting the concrete and the way his clothes shift as he moves, but it isn’t enough. Izuku reaches his free hand up and grips his arm, where there are fresh cuts under the sleeve, hidden there from last night. He grips his arm tight, digging his fingers in, and the burst of sharp, clean pain is what lets him finally, finally focus, finally feel present again. Izuku takes a deep breath and gives himself a shake, still walking. _I can do this. I’ve died before and been fine, I can handle talking to a pro_.

Izuku checks his map just as he sees what looks like a small park, a patch of green within the city. It’s past cherry blossom season, but Izuku recognizes cherry trees lining the edge of the park, thick and green with foliage. The grass here is well-kept, a bright green carpet that’s perfectly trimmed. Izuku can see footpaths that lead into the park, towards a colorful playground up ahead. It smells greener as he steps onto the gravel pathway, glancing around. 

For all that the park is lovely, he doesn’t see Mirko or anyone resembling her. He’s seen pictures and videos of the number seven hero before, of course, and he knows to expect a short, white haired woman with dark skin and rabbit ears. What he actually sees is a woman with her two children, all three of them with dark, short hair and fair skin. If he squints, he thinks he might see some people up ahead, in the playground, but they’re clearly children and not adults. Izuku is confused for a moment--is he in the right place?--but then something occurs to him. 

Izuku steps along the path, looking around carefully and listening the best he can. It’s worlds away from what he does on patrol, what with the bright sunlight and the sounds of daytime, of people just beyond the cherry trees, of birds twittering in the trees and children laughing and playing, but the concept is the same. Izuku listens, and he looks. He searches for something out of place, something that tips off his instincts, and he finds it when he glances at a particularly tall cherry tree and thinks he sees something white hidden among its dark foliage. He lets a small smile climb up his lips as he approaches the tree.

“H-Hello, Mirko,” he says as he tips his head back to see the Rabbit Hero sitting on a large branch of the tree, her legs dangling down and her face painted with a devious grin. “I’m Izuku Midoriya, from U.A.” 

“I know who you are, kid,” she says, hopping down from the tree and landing neatly on the ground in front of him. She’s shorter than him, surprisingly, but her ears poke up above both of their heads. Izuku still feels intimidated by her, though, and it isn’t helping that she’s grinning at him like she’s a predator and he’s prey. 

“R-Right,” he says, swallowing. She tips her head slightly, her eyes narrowing.

“Chase me,” she says, amusement in her voice, and that’s all the warning that Izuku gets before she’s running off to the side, taking a long leap that launches her easily into the next tree, where she glances back with a grin. Izuku blinks, then tears after her, keeping his grip on his costume case as he does. 

The wind whips past his face as he follows Mirko. She jumps from that first tree directly onto the fire escape of the building next to her, gripping easily onto the black painted metal and scrambling up to the roof. Izuku grins when he sees it, because it’s so similar to what he does often as Ace. It’s easy enough to run up to the fire escape and copy her moves, shimmying up onto the roof in a few seconds. When he gets up there, Mirko is waiting, hands on her hips and one eyebrow raised.

“I’m surprised you’ve made it this far,” she says, smirking. “Tired yet?” 

Izuku shakes his head and holds up the costume case, grinning. “I haven’t even needed both hands,” he says, and she cackles at him, tipping her head back to the sky and laughing. 

“Alright, then,” she laughs. “Come and get me!” She turns and jumps from the roof, leaping onto the next one over easily, covering over three times the distance Izuku had ever been able to jump. He grins and starts to run forward, giving himself a running start before he jumps, right at the edge. He can clearly see Mirko watching him, waiting to see if he makes it, but it’s not any longer than some of the jumps he regularly makes as Ace. He lands on the ground and rolls neatly over his shoulder before coming to his feet, costume case still in hand. Mirko nods approvingly, then jumps, sliding down the side of the building to land on the ground. 

There’s no fire escape on this building, so it’s a little more difficult than his usual, but Izuku doesn’t waste time, turning his stomach to face the roof and lying down. He scoots his legs over the edge until he can bend at the waist, his feet catching on the top edge of a window below. He grips the top of the roof and lowers himself down to the windowsill for that same window, then repeats the motion as he grabs the top of that window and moves his feet to the top of the next. It’s a bit harder with his uniform on and his left hand occupied with his costume, but he manages to get himself low enough to jump neatly from the last window onto the ground. Mirko’s waiting for him, but the second his feet touch the ground, she’s running away along the edge of the alley.

“You’re fast!” she shouts back at him, laughing as he runs after her. “But I’m not even using my quirk,” she says, a teasing tone to her voice. Izuku grins wildly back at her, his hair whipping around his face as he runs, the wind brushing against his skin.

“Why not?” he asks, barely out of breath. She laughs again, bending her legs at the knees and jumping off the ground in an easy motion, twisting through the air at more than twice her previous speed.

“You’re gonna regret saying that!” She calls back to him, quickly disappearing among the buildings. The message is clear to Izuku; Mirko wants him to find her. It’s a challenge, one that he gets as Ace but only rarely. Izuku knows what to do as he weaves between the people, chirping out breathless apologies as he pushes people aside. 

He runs through the streets, the bright sun that had seemed so distant earlier warming his skin under his blazer and bringing a few beads of sweat to the surface of his skin. He can’t see Mirko, but it doesn’t matter--the sound of her jumps may be quiet, but it’s distinct from the normal sounds of the city. Izuku is well aware that he’s only able to hear it because she’s allowing him to, but it’s okay with him, because he tracks the sound as she weaves a loose circle around a block of office buildings. He thinks he can guess where she’s going next, and he has an idea as he hops up onto a fire escape, quickly running up the stairs until he’s up high enough to jump to the roof on the building next door. 

Izuku hits his knee against the concrete of the roof briefly, but he ignroes the pain and jumps to his feet, running to the edge of the roof and jumping neatly onto the next one. This roof is tiled with a little garden on top, so he feels kind of bad, like he’s trespassing, but he’s only on it for a few moments, anyway. He actually catches a glimpse of Mirko’s ears, just for a couple of seconds, but it’s enough to confirm that he’s going the right way as he jumps to the next building, the impact stinging his feet. The next part of his plan is a little risky but, well, Izuku’s jumped off of enough roofs that he’s practically an expert at this point, right?

Izuku skitters to the edge, looking over it for a fire escape, but there isn’t one. What there is, however, is a streetlight right beside the building, maybe four feet away and a foot shorter than the roof itself. Izuku grins, launching himself from the roof without thinking, wrapping his arms around the street lamp and sliding down it like it’s a fire pole. It’s not quite as easy as he’d thought it would be, and the impact of slamming into it will definitely leave bruises along his sternum and ribs, but he slides to the ground and steps away from the pole just in time to see Mirko turn the corner. 

“Hey!” He shouts, breathless and grinning. Mirko slows to a stop on the small side street they’re both standing on, her grin growing wide and her eyebrows raising.

“I like you, you little brat,” she says, hopping forward to put an arm around his shoulders, yanking him close and digging her knuckles into his skull. Izuku winces as she noogies him, not sure if it would be rude to push her away.

“Did I pass your test?” he asks as she releases him, because it’s pretty clear that’s what it was. Mirko shrugs, putting her hands on her hips. 

“You did better than most pros would, so you tell me,” she says, then sticks out her right hand. “I’m Rumi Usagiyama, but you can call me Rumi or Mirko. It’s nice to meet ya, kid.”

Izuku blinks, and he’s sure there are stars in his eyes when he takes her hand and shakes it. “I-I’m Izuku Midoriya, but you knew that! Y-You can call me Deku, it’s, um, my hero name!” he chirps, feeling embarrassed that he’s getting starstruck _now_ of all times, after he’d finished chasing her around the city and climbing onto roofs after her like a maniac. 

“Cool name, Deku,” she says, winking at him. “Let’s go back to my place for now.” She turns, starting to walk away. “It’s not far from here,” she calls back at him. “I wanna see what your costume is like, and I’m also kinda hungry.” Izuku blinks, then follows after her. She’s walking fairly quickly, but it’s nothing compared to the chase they just went on, and Izuku easily catches up, walking just one pace behind her so it doesn’t seem like he’s trying to get in front. Mirko doesn’t seem to notice either way, barely glancing over at him as she starts talking again.

“I don’t really like, _do_ , interns or sidekicks, so this was kind of a stretch for me,” she says, hands gesturing in the air as she talks. “But I saw you going absolutely fuckin’ feral on the other kids at the sports festival and kicking their asses while they relied on their flashy quirks ‘n stuff, so I thought, hey, maybe it’s time for me to try something new, yeah?” She glances over at him, a sly grin on her face. “Plus, if you’re quirkless, nobody can try and charge your skinny ass with illegal quirk usage, meaning I can take you out on patrol and shit. I’m not gonna babysit you; you’re gonna be working like crazy this week, just sayin’.” She looks like she’s trying to make him nervous, but Izuku can’t help the way his heart jumps in excitement at the idea of patrolling with a real hero. 

“R-Really?” He asks, gaping. “You think I’m that impressive? Are you really going to take me on patrol? I would really like that, I’ve never gotten to do anything like that with a real hero, and you’re on the top ten and _everything_ and I can't believe you noticed me, not when you don’t even want an agency since you prefer to work alone and you said in an interview one time that it was a sign of weakness and--” Mirko cuts him off, laughing.

“Wow, you’ve got a set of lungs on you, dontcha?” She grins at him as she turns down a small street, one with lots of nicer apartment buildings along it. “And yeah, I think it’s a sign of weakness if you have to rely on other heroes to do your own job, but it’s different when it’s a kid. I’m supposed to be teachin’ you, that’s kinda the point, right?” She claps a hand on his back, startling him into stumbling slightly, and she laughs at that, too. 

“Jumpy, huh?” She looks at him out of the corner of her eyes, her face somehow slightly softer. “We’re here, by the way,” she says, pointing at an apartment building. Izuku glances up at it, blinking. It’s not the nicest one on the block by any stretch of the imagination, but there are balconies on each floor, with sliding glass doors, and it really doesn’t surprise Izuku when Mirko just jumps straight onto the third floor balcony, waving at him.

“C’mon!” She says, taking a key out of her pocket and unlocking a latch that Izuku can’t see at his angle. Izuku glances around the front of the building as she slides the door open, and he sees a good spot to climb along the corner of the building, where there are decorative bricks set in a way that they make little ledges every so often. He starts climbing, the brick digging into his bare hand. It’s hard to climb this way with one hand still on his costume case, but after a short distance, he sees Mirko’s hand reach down from the balcony. Izuku blinks, then hands her the case, which she takes and sets down on the balcony.

“Thanks,” he says up to her and she shrugs, flipping her long hair over her shoulder.

“Not a problem,” she says back at him just as he reaches her balcony, carefully sliding his feet from the corner to the outside of the balcony’s fence, climbing over it to solid ground. She turns, seemingly satisfied that he’d made it up okay, walking through the open door to her apartment. Izuku picks up his costume case before heading in after her. 

It’s dark inside, and Izuku doesn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t this. The apartment is nice, sure, but it’s mostly unfurnished, with a huge white couch in the center of the room but no coffee table. There’s a TV hung on the wall in front of the couch, and Izuku can see a messy kitchen in the back next to a hallway. It’s clearly lived in, though, with shoes in a row along the side of the balcony door and a large blanket heaped on the floor in front of the couch. There’s a stack of paperwork in one corner, along with a plastic cup filled with pens and pencils and a clipboard with too many papers shoved in it. Izuku feels kind of bad for it. 

Mirko walks over to the actual front door of the apartment and flips on the lights, which only makes it more clear just how messy the apartment is. Izuku is pretty sure he can see dust on the stovetop, which... He’s not sure to feel about that. 

“You... you live here?” He asks, uncertainly. Mirko looks over to him, a confused expression on her face before she narrows her eyes slightly. 

“Yeah? Something wrong with it?” She challenges, folding her arms over her chest. Izuku swallows, then glances around again.

“N-No, it’s just not what I expected, I guess,” he answers. Mirko shrugs, walking back over to the balcony door and taking her shoes off. Izuku quickly does the same, sliding his red sneakers off and placing them along the wall with Mirko’s many different shoes. It looks like under the costume boots, her feet are actually normal, if a bit large, which surprises him. He’d expected them to be paws, or something like that.

“I don’t have a lot of time to clean or decorate,” Mirko says, and Izuku glances up to see her with a strange expression. “Not that it matters that much, really. But yeah, this is my home, not my agency, so don’t go spilling the location to the forums,” she says, grinning at him again. He shakes his head quickly.

“I-I wouldn’t!” he replies quickly, and she nods

“I figured, you don’t seem that dumb,” she says, then gestures to the costume case. “Here, let me show you the bathroom so you can change. I wanna see what the support department cooked up for you.” She turns, walking to the hallway Izuku’d spotted earlier. She stops at the second door on the right, turning the handle and flicking on the lights before stepping aside so Izuku can walk into the small space.

It’s just an ordinary bathroom, clean enough that Izuku suspects there’s another one that Mirko actually uses. He pulls the door shut behind him, hesitating a moment before locking it, just in case. He can’t hear if Mirko’s outside the door still, and he doesn’t think she’d open it on him, but it’s better safe than sorry. 

He changes quickly into the costume, not really surprised to see that the support department has taken it upon themselves to make changes. The pants and the fitted long sleeved shirt are pretty much the same, keeping the essence of the costume his mom made for him, but he’s happy to see that they’re included thick, heavy arm guards like he requested, ones that he could easily block a knife strike with. There’s also an upgraded utility belt, this one complete with two matching knives, long and thin and wicked sharp when he slides one out of its sheath. The metal is shiny and polished, and he can see his own wide grin reflected in its surface.

He only notices the matching sheathes hidden in the arm guards when he puts them on and flexes his wrists. There’s a small handle poking out, only when he bends his wrist just so, and he blinks, tugging at it. The small knife that comes out has a blade only about as long as the palm of his hand, but he’s happy to see it. He slides it back into place, then checks and finds a matching one hidden in the other arm guard. 

The only other major additions are the faceguard, the grey metal piece that rests neatly on his collarbone and protects his neck, and an oddly shaped ceramic and silicone object in a clear case. It looks almost like... teeth. There’s a note accompanying it, and Izuku reads it with furrowed brows.

_We noticed you like to bite! We thought you might do a little more damage with this--if it doesn’t fit right, just let us know. - Support Department_

Izuku grins, taking the piece out of its case and examining it. It looks like it’s supposed to fit over his top teeth, and he looks in the mirror so that he doesn’t put it on wrong as he slides it on. He can hardly feel it once it’s in place, but when he draws his tongue over the bottom edge of his teeth he very nearly slices his tongue open. He looks in the mirror and can just barely see an edge of sharp, glittering silver at the bottom of the frontmost six top teeth. He grins, and it’s almost invisible. _The support department is full of geniuses_ , he thinks, examining himself in the mirror. The gloves and the arm guards and black and green respectively, matching well with his green and black theme, and the weapons aren’t so visible that they might intimidate civilians. _It’s perfect._

He neatly folds his uniform, even though it’s filthy at this point, and gathers it and the now empty costume case before unlocking the bathroom door and opening it. Mirko isn’t in the hallway, but when Izuku steps forward, peeking into the living room, he can see her leaning against the back of the couch, clearly waiting for him. 

“Nice!” She comments, nodding approvingly as he walks into the living room. “I see they finally decided to arm you,” she says, circling him slowly and looking over the costume.

“There are hidden knives, too,” he says excitedly, flicking a wrist and tugging out the small knife there. The movement is easy, even without having practiced, and Mirko grins wide.

“Hell yeah! I like to see that,” she says, and Izuku smiles at her. 

“My teeth, too,” he says, reaching up and popping the mouthpiece out so she can see. “It’s like a blade on the edge,” he explains, holding it so the metal hidden in the mouth piece catches the light. 

“Oh, so you _do_ plan on making biting part of your permanent brand?” Mirko asks, raising an eyebrow at him, face full of amusement. “Good, because I’m pretty sure all of social media has already decided it’s your thing.” Izuku flushes red at that, glancing off to the side.

“I-I’m on social media?” He asks, not really wanting to know. “I don’t really keep up with it, I’m more of a fan forum kind of person...”

“Oh, yeah kid, you’re pretty popular already!” Mirko barks out a laugh. “I think people like watching you fight dirty. It’s got a nice edge to it, y’know?” Izuku nods, even though he isn’t sure he really knows. Mirko tips her head at him slightly.

“You hungry?” she asks, pulling out her phone. “I think I’m gonna order pizza, and then we can patrol or something after we eat.”

“Pizza?” Izuku echoes, blinking. He’d thought that a pro would eat healthier, like something high protein or with a lot of vegetables, but he supposes he hadn’t expected a pro to live in a messy apartment in Tokyo, either. It’s strange, seeing that for all of Mirko’s fame and power, she’s still a twenty-something year-old. Izuku wonders if he’ll be like that when he’s a pro, or if he’ll be more... polished. He’s actually not sure which he’d prefer--he’d always just imagined himself as a hero, not any further detail. 

“Hey kid, you’re mumbling,” Mirko says, and Izuku glances back up, flushing red as she laughs. “Do you like pepperoni?”

“Y-Yes!” He says, nodding quickie. Mirko taps out something on her phone, walking around to sit on the couch, plopping down onto it.

“It’s ordered!” She says, then pats the seat next to her. “Sit down. I’m gonna put your sports festival fights on TV and we’re gonna go over what you did right and what you did wrong.” She’s got a predatory grin on her face, and Izuku has a feeling he’s in for a long night as he swallows and moves to sit down next to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: none i think? brief self harm mentions
> 
> i hope you enjoyed!!! sorry if my characterization of mirko is off, she doesn't appear very much in canon and i haven't read vigilantes so i don't have much to work with ;-; but i hope you enjoyed either way!! 
> 
> thank you as always for the support and love! ik im behind on answering comments, but i promise ill get to them!
> 
> discord: https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt


	27. internship, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku met up with mirko and chased her around the city a bit, then got pizza with her. something's a little off with iida, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HIIIII sorry that this is a little bit shorter than usual, the next scene is gonna be LONG so i wanted to save it for next chap :3c i hope u enjoy!

Izuku only feels a little bit bad when he sneaks out the second he’s home after patrolling with Mirko. It’s far past his usual time, but Izuku is too amped up to do anything other than put on his Ace costume and sneak out the window. His mom had been asleep when he’d gotten home, anyway, so it’s not like she’ll notice if he left again. It’s nice and semi-warm out, even though it’s around two in the morning, so when he runs along the familiar streets-- _ his _ streets--it warms the chill that had set into his bones on the heavily air conditioned train home. 

It’s quiet, as usual, but Izuku has a feeling, just a hint in the back of his head that something might be happening tonight. It’s a sensation he gets occasionally, and after doing reading about it online, he’s pretty sure everyone who does hero or vigilante work starts to feel it eventually. Sometimes, it’s nothing; he’ll go out on a hunch and just find the usual, no difference. But a couple of times, he’s followed his instinct and something  _ had _ been wrong, like last time when there’d been a bad car accident and Izuku had helped the pros on the scene get the civilians out, or a month ago when it’d been a teenage girl being drugged and taken from the party she was at. Izuku doesn’t think it’s a power, not like a quirk or anything, but it’s something he doesn’t want to ignore. 

It’s humid, too, he notices as he turns down the alleyway he always does, glancing at the potted plant he’s used to seeing there. The flowers that had been buds last time are blooming, finally, little bright clusters of yellow and gold and orange in the dark. Izuku smiles under his mask as he continues on. 

The patrol with Mirko had been surprisingly similar to his own, just... louder. Tokyo is more active than Musutafu, especially in the part of Tokyo that Mirko had taken him through, and she didn’t move nearly as silently as he tried to, shouting to people who were making trouble and laughing the whole way. It was a strange mix of underground movements, quiet leaps and silent climbing, and the loud flashy style he expects of daytime heroes. Izuku likes it, even though he’s not sure he can incorporate that much noise into his own style without getting himself killed. He’s pretty sure that her quirk gives her enhanced endurance on top of the super strength and improved senses, judging by some of the tapes he’s seen where she gets badly injured and barely flinches. He kind of wants to get to that point, eventually.  _ It’s not like I can die _ , he notes as he climbs a fire escape up onto a familiar rooftop,  _ so pain itself is just... vestigial. I don’t need it.  _

When he gets to the top of the roof, it’s the exact moment a cool, clear breeze brushes over the building, and Izuku breathes into it, slow and content. It’s only a second, a heartbeat of quiet and calm, but it’s nice. Izuku thinks it’s only because of that moment that he even notices what he sees next.

In an old abandoned bar just to the left of this building, the direction Izuku doesn’t normally patrol, Izuku sees just the faintest flicker of light behind the boards over the windows. It’s just a tiny hint, just a little burst of something warm and yellow, like an incandescent light bulb, but it’s enough to make him pause, glancing to the building with narrowed eyes. Izuku is watching the building, looking it over when it happens, and that’s the only reason why he sees it at all when a side door, opening into the tiny, dark alley beside the building, cracks open, light spilling out. Izuku sees a familiar dark figure with metal rabbit ears and a matching mask step into the building, the door shutting just as quickly as it had opened. Izuku feel his heartbeat stutter in his chest because  _ I would have missed that, if I’d looked away for even a second, noticed the light a moment too late. _

Izuku creeps back to the side of his building, climbing down the fire escape carefully. He supposes he doesn’t need to be  _ too _ stealthy, because there’s no way he won’t be resetting after this, but he still wants to be able to hear whatever is going on inside the building without being caught, so he moves like a shadow along the sides of the nearby buildings until he’s nestled under one of the boarded up windows, presses against the side of the building so the angle would hide him even if someone pried off the boards and looked out the dusty glass. It’s quiet, but he can hear voices from inside, murmurs of conversation. Some of them are familiar, too familiar, and it makes Izuku’s breath catch in his throat, somewhere between his collarbone and jaw. 

“Leadfoot,” Shigaraki’s raspy voice drawls, low and muffled by the wall between him and Izuku. “Nice of you to finally show up.”

“I’m on time,” Leadfoot answers, sounding unimpressed. “Forgive me for not reading your mind and knowing you and him would both be ready... what, an hour early? It’s rude to start negotiations before every party is present.” Izuku hears a laugh from inside. 

“Not if it’s intentional,” Shigaraki answers. 

“You missed most of this  _ child’s _ insanity,” an unfamiliar voice, low and cracked, speaks up. 

“Hmm,” Leadfoot hums. “Stain, I suppose.” Izuku freezes when he hears that name, and it all clicks.  _ This is that meeting she and Manami were talking about _ . He feels both lucky and terrified, to be able to listen in on this. 

“Yes,” Stain growls. “And you’re Leadfoot of that Gekkeiju group. I’ll have you know from the beginning I have little interest in making your little  _ family _ money.” Izuku blinks.  _ Family? Gekkeiju?  _ He realizes, abruptly, just how little he really knows about this group. 

“I don’t particularly care about money myself,” Leadfoot says, and Izuku thinks he can  _ hear _ her rolling her eyes. “But I’m assuming you know that already, or you wouldn’t be speaking with me at all, would you?”

“Correct,” Stain hisses. Izuku hears shuffling from within the room, then a startled noise.

“Get off me!” That’s Shigaraki, he thinks. 

“You’re bleeding,” Leadfoot says, then laughs. “Aww, did you two have to beat each other up to come to an agreement? Maybe it’s a good thing you started early.”

“Like you’d have been able to hurt me,” Shigaraki snaps back, and Leadfoot laughs again.

“I got a power up from a friend,” she says, amusement in her voice. “So I think it would have been easy enough, actually.” 

“Whatever,” Shiragaki says, and there’s more rustling from within the room. “I hate working with you and your band of fucking creeps,” he mutters.

“You’re one to talk,” Leadfoot replies, then sighs. “Tell me what you’ve agreed on, since you decided to leave me out. I’ll decide if Gekkeiju still has anything to give you.”

“Like we’re not the ones doing  _ you _ a fucking favor,” Shigaraki rasps. “The hero killer is gonna help us with a couple little  _ pests _ we have, and in return, we’ll lend some Noumus to him and make a big mess in Hosu City, like he wants.” Shigaraki laughs, low and painful sounding. Izuku shivers.

“Those are children,” Leadfoot deadpans. “U.A. students, aren’t they?” Izuku feels his blood run cold as Shigaraki hums, his voice rough and dry.

“You’re the one with the reputation for killing witnesses, Leadfoot.” Shigaraki says, voice petulant. “Don’t tell me you’ve got a soft spot for brats?”

“I just thought you’d be able to kill them without help, since they’re actual, literal children,” Leadfoot says, sounding bored. “Especially considering how you keep telling us you’ll take down All Might, who’s objectively stronger than a gang of teenagers.”

“Are you fucking done yet?” Shigaraki hisses. “Will you give us your support or not, bitch?”

“Don’t get snarky with me, Shigaraki,” Leadfoot says. “I’ll send another one of the lieutenants to help you and Stain at Hosu tomorrow, but don’t expect her to be as easy to deal with as I am.” Izuku swallows, his throat thick and difficult to breath through all of a sudden.  _ Iida is in Hosu,  _ he remembers.  _ Iida is in Hosu, and they’re targeting UA students. _

“Oh, great,” Shigaraki drawls. “Kurogiri, I don’t want to have to put up with another one of these fucking maniacs.”

“You’ll manage, Shigaraki,” Kurogiri replies. Izuku hadn’t even realized he was there, but it makes sense, considering. 

“Why can’t you come yourself, Leadfoot?” Stain asks. Izuku wonders the same thing.

“I could, but you don’t want me to,” she replies. “My associate’s quirk is far better suited to this mission, and she’s been dying to finally make her ‘debut,’ so it’s only natural.” She chuckles, low and dark. “Plus, you and her will get along, Stain. She’s a fan.”

“Oh?” Stain asks. “Who is she?”

“She’s going by Fangirl,” Leadfoot replies. “And she’s got the same view as you, regarding heroes. I wouldn’t let her near Shigaraki, though.” Leadfoot laughs, like Izuku’s never heard before, a dark, sarcastic laugh. “You two would kill each other and the entire city in moments.”

“Is she your fucking pet or something?” Shigaraki asks, sounding annoyed. “Are you her  _ handler _ ?”

“Is Kurogiri yours?” Leadfoot fires back. “And no. We’re of equal rank, but if anything, she’s more powerful than me. The only reason I’m here instead of her is that she’s got more important things to deal with right now.”

“More important than this?” Kurogiri asks, voice quiet. 

“More important than anything,” Leadfoot confirms, voice serious. “What, did you think the only thing our group does is talk to half baked villain teams and chivalrous murderers?” She sighs, and it’s startling to Izuku because he’d expected a laugh. He wishes he could see their faces. “Does that work for the two of you?”

“Do we get a choice?” Shigaraki replies. “It’s fine, I guess.”

“It’s acceptable,” Stain murmurs. “I want to meet this Fangirl, soon. I hope she lives up to your praise.” 

“Was it praise?” Leadfoot asks, her voice sarcastic. “I’ll be going, then. I’ll let the boss know that you two are on board. Oh, and it was nice to see you again, Kurogiri. I like the suit.”

“Thank you,” Kurogiri replies, a note of amusement in his voice. “Yours is quite nice, as well.”

“Can you two fucking stop,” Shigaraki says, not a question. “I don’t care about fucking fashion or whatever. If you’re leaving, leave.”

“One final thing,” Leadfoot says, just as Izuku hears the door to the alleyway open. He stiffens where he’s pressed to the other side of the building.

“What.” Shigaraki’s impatient voice is louder than it was with the door shut.

“You really need to get better security,” Leadfoot replies, stepping out to look at Izuku as he stares back at her with wide eyes. “This bar is nice and all, but it’s not exactly the best base for an up and coming villain band.”

“Whatever,” Shigaraki replies. “I hope I never fucking see your stupid face again.”

“You’ve never seen it in the first place,” Leadfoot replies, shoving the door shut. Izuku hears it rather than sees it shut completely. Leadfoot looks at him through her mask.

“You know I don’t have a choice this time, right?” She asks, voice barely audible. Izuku swallows, his throat clicking softly in the quiet of the street.

“I know,” he replies, barely above a whisper. 

“I’ll make it quick,” she promises, raising a hand covered in metal rings. Izuku sees nothing but a flash of violet light and smooth, grey metal before he’s gone.

\--

His first thought when he opens his eyes to the street just outside his house, his Ace costume already on and the night turned back to the first few moments after he’d snuck out, is that she’d been right. It was quick, and painless. If she wasn’t a villain and he wasn’t the vigilante she’d just killed, he’d ask her how she did it so he could copy it himself for next time. It’s almost disorienting to die without the usual pain and fear, the feeling of emptiness before he goes. He both misses it and doesn’t.

This time, when he runs, it’s not toward the meeting site or his usual route. It’s towards where sometimes, if he’s lucky, Aizawa will be out as Eraserhead, checking up on the part of the city close to UA, near the train station and the old bridge where Izuku’d found him before. It’s a little out of his way, and it’s late enough in the night that Izuku doubt he’ll find Aizawa, but this is important.  _ They’re going after Hosu City _ , Izuku thinks to himself as he leaps from rooftop to rooftop, stealth abandoned in favor of speed. If he wants to find Aizawa, he’ll need to cover as much ground as possible.

_ Or maybe not _ , he thinks as he spots a familiar stretch of white cloth looping around a telephone pole as Eraserhead propels himself through the air maybe three or four blocks away. He’s far enough away that if it wasn’t for the glint of gold or the distinctive shape of his capture weapon, Izuku might have a hard time recognizing him. As it is, Izuku grits his teeth and increases his pace, running to catch up to the man. It’s hard enough to catch up to a pro in general, but it’s not helped by the fact that Izuku’s been running around all day and his muscles are sore and burning under his skin. 

“Eraser!” he shouts, praying that Aizawa is close enough to hear. He must be, because he jerks to a stop on the roof he’s running across, turning to look in Izuku’s direction. Izuku thinks he might see a glint of red for just a moment before Eraserhead seems to recognize him.

“Ace?” He calls back, changing direction and jumping from his roof to the one next to Izuku’s building. “What’s going on?” Izuku doesn’t answer immediately, instead jumping from his roof toward the one Eraserhead is on. The capture weapon shoots out, wrapping around his hips and helping him land neatly on the roof. Izuku doesn’t really  _ need _ the help, but he doesn’t say as much, instead looking up at his teacher and speaking, breathless from the exertion and the adrenaline.

“Eraserhead, I found Shigaraki and Stain having a meeting,” he says, seeing Aizawa’s head jerk back in surprise. “They’re working with Leadfoot, with, uh, Gekkeiju?” He’s still not entirely sure that’s the name of the group, but Aizawa doesn’t seem surprised to hear it. “They’re going to attack Hosu City tomorrow,” he breathes out, breath shaky and uneven. “They’re targeting UA students.”

Eraserhead shakes his head, looking Izuku over. “Haven’t I told you a hundred times to stay away from that group?” he asks, grabbing Izuku by the bicep and tugging him closer. “That goes  _ double _ for the League of Villains. You could have  _ died _ .”

“I--” Izuku swallows. “I  _ almost _ did,” he says, instead of saying that he  _ actually _ did. He can see Aizawa’s eyes narrowed behind the slits in his goggles. 

“Are you injured?” he asks, like he wasn’t just looking Izuku over for injuries. Izuku shakes his head, and Eraserhead releases him with a sigh. “You said tomorrow?”

Izuku nods. “You... you have a student in Hosu City right now, don’t you?” He asks, hesitantly. Aizawa stares at him.

“What makes you say that?” Aizawa asks, voice carefully neutral, and Izuku just shrugs, glancing away and biting at his lip under his mask.

“My quirk,” he says quietly. “I, um. I don’t know details, but--” Eraserhead cuts him off.

“What do you know?” His gaze feels like it’s burning into Izuku, even though Aizawa isn’t using his quirk. Izuku wonders if he cares this much for Izuku, too, or if it’s just for students who behave and don’t cause problems, like Iida.

“Tomorrow,” Izuku says, voice shaky even though he doesn't think he’s scared. “The hero killer, a villain from Gekkeiju named Fangirl, and some Noumus are attacking Hosu City.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know anything else. Stain and Shigaraki are targeting UA students, though, I know that much.”

Eraserhead sighs, bringing a hand to run through his messy dark hair. “I appreciate the information, but you need to  _ stop _ ,” he hisses, low and serious. “You’re not a hero. You’re a civilian and a  _ child _ at that. I don’t want your blood on my hands because you tried too hard to get information from these villains. They won’t hesitate to kill you, like I’ve told you at least three times already.” It’s his teacher voice, Izuku notes. 

“I know,” Izuku says, quietly. “But it’s important that I get this information, or more people than just me will die.” Aizawa sucks in a breath.

“Your life is important, too,” he says, and Izuku reflexively shakes his head. Aizawa is staring at him, his brows furrowed, and something about the scrutiny makes Izuku’s skin crawl.

“It’s okay, really,” Izuku says, turning to go. “Don’t worry about me.” A warm hand drops onto his shoulder, and Izuku flinches before he can stop himself. Eraserhead lets go, but Izuku still hears what he says as Izuku runs and jumps to the next roof over.

“Do you  _ want _ to die?” he asks, quietly, and Izuku’s sure it’s a rhetorical question. He doesn’t answer, even if it isn’t, but the question sits heavily on his mind as he weaves through the city, the pale light of the sun starting to peek through the horizon to the east.

\--

Izuku meets Mirko at her apartment, this time, and he’s heavy with exhaustion from being up for the entire night save for two hours of quick sleep he’d managed to squeeze in before he caught his early train ride to Tokyo. He’s beginning to wonder if he should have done what Kirishima decided to do and stayed closer to his internship itself, but it’s a little later for that now. He at least has the sense to pack something to eat for breakfast, but he fell asleep on the train and didn’t get to eat it, so the granola bar is sitting in the backpack he has tossed over his shoulder. 

He climbs up to the balcony, mostly because he doesn’t actually know how to find her door from inside the building, scaling the brick wall easily now that it’s the second time. There’s a white curtain over the glass door on the balcony, and he knocks gently against the glass, the cool surface hitting his knuckles. It’s only a moment before Izuku can see the curtain being pulled aside, revealing Mirko already in her hero costume. She tugs the door open for him, a grin already on her face.

“Hey, Deku, long time no see!” She steps aside, and Izuku walks into her apartment, sliding his shoes off and setting them next to the door.

“H-Hi, Mirko,” he says, giving her a little smile of his own. “What are we doing today?” he asks, stepping into the apartment on socked feet. 

“Patrolling again, but daytime version,” she says, glancing at him. “How come you’re not in your costume already?”

“Oh, we’re not supposed to wear them if we’re not with our mentors, since we’re not actually heroes yet,” Izuku explains. “I have it in here though,” he says, gesturing to his backpack. Mirko nods.

“Well then, what are you waiting for? Go and change! I’m gonna get another cup of coffee real quick,” she turns, walking into the kitchen before Izuku even decides if he needs to respond. He stands there for a second, then hurries over to her bathroom to change. 

He changes quickly, now that he knows what everything is, and when he steps out of the bathroom in his hero costume, Mirko is leaning against the back of the couch, sipping on a steaming mug of black coffee. She grins at him, red eyes reminding Izuku of Kacchan.

“Are you old enough to drink coffee?” She asks, gesturing to where there’s a mug sitting on her counter, steaming gently in the dim light of the apartment. “I kind of forgot that kids aren’t supposed to have caffeine, and I made you a cup.”

“I-I don’t drink it often, but I think I’m old enough,” he answers, surprised that she’d thought of him. “I’ve never had it black, though.” 

She snickers around a mouthful of her own coffee. “Try it. I want to see the look on your face.” Izuku isn’t sure that he necessarily wants to if it’s  _ that _ kind of a thing, but he dutifully walks over to the countertop, picking up the mug. It’s a Hawks mug, he notes, staring at the red wings on the front of it.

“Are you a fan?” he asks, tracing the edge of the design. Mirko snorts.

“Nah, me and Hawks are besties,” she answers. “He brought me that after he broke one of my other ones, since he gets his own merch for free. Cheap bastard.” She slurps her coffee, watching Izuku over the rim of her mug. Izuku sniffs his coffee. It smells nice, like chocolate or nuts or something. He takes a sip, and it’s bitter and strong, but not bad. He kind of likes it.

“It’s good,” he says, looking back and Mirko, who nods and smiles. 

“I like you even more, now,” she says, giggling. “I think we’re gonna head east a ways today, that way you can--” She’s cut off by her phone ringing, loud and shrill in the apartment. She curses under her breath and pulls it out from her pocket, glancing down at it, then looks up at him. 

“I gotta take this, sorry,” she says, then presses a button and holds the phone up to her ear. “Hey, what’s up?”

There’s some talking from the other end, and Mirko frowns, walking past Izuku to set her half-empty mug down on the countertop. Izuku can't make out what the other person is saying.

“I was just gonna take my internship kid over to Aragawa and show him some stuff,” she says, tapping her fingers on the countertop. “Why?” Izuku can hear part of what they say, this time. 

“...Hosu City...tip... just in case.” It’s a male voice speaking, but not one Izuku recognizes. 

“Alright,” Mirko says, sounding annoyed. “Who else is coming?” She walks into the kitchen itself, so all Izuku can make out is vague chatter, something that might be a list of names or might just be talking. He can’t tell.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll give him a call. I dunno if he’s in Tokyo right now, though, so good luck.” She pauses. “Okay. Who’s the source for this, anyway?” The person on the other end of the line replies, but whatever it is makes Mirko frown. “Again? If Eraser doesn’t start sharing who his mystery source is, I’m gonna have to beat it out of him,” she says, and Izuku realizes, abruptly, that  _ he _ is Eraserhead’s mystery source. He’s glad, on some level, that Aizawa isn’t sharing who he’s getting the information from, and he’s also glad that he’s warning other heroes, but some part of Izuku also feels small. He doesn’t know why, but he thinks it might be because he’s not used to this, not used to adults taking things he says  _ seriously _ . 

“Hey, change of plans, we’re going to Hosu,” Mirko says, snapping Izuku out of his thoughts. She shoves her phone back in her pocket. “It’s only a ten minute train ride, so it’s not too bad,” she says, picking her cup of coffee back up and chugging it all in a series of quick gulps, tipping her head back as he does. She sets it back down on the counter with a sigh.

“What’s happening in Hosu?” Izuku asks, mostly just to see how much she’ll tell him. He knows perfectly well what’s happening in Hosu, seeing as he’s the reason Mirko knows now.

“There’s supposedly a villain group cooking something up,” Mirko says, walking over to the glass door and sliding her shoes on. “I’m not sure how reliable the info is, but the Hero Commission isn’t taking any chances right now.” She pauses. “One sec, I gotta call Hawks and tell him.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone, and after a moment of thought, Izuku does the same with his. As Mirko steps onto the balcony to talk to Hawks, Izuku sends a quick text to Iida.

_ Hey, I’m going to be in Hosu today. How’s your internship going? _ He doesn’t mention Stain or the villains, simply because he has a feeling that Iida wouldn’t  _ avoid _ Stain, not after what happened with his brother. There’s no reply, though, and Izuku isn’t even sure that Iida’s read it. For all he knows, Iida’s hard at work at his internship right now. There’s not really any reason for Izuku to worry, right? Iida’s probably just trying to focus on his studies. Izuku isn’t worried. He doesn't need to be, because nothing’s wrong.

At least, that’s what Izuku tells himself when he and Mirko leave for the train. Izuku keeps checking his phone, just in case Iida says something, but it’s radio silence from his friend. Izuku is tempted to text Uraraka and ask her if she’s heard from him, but he doesn’t want to distract her.  _ She’d been so excited to work with Gunhead, _ he reminds himself.  _ She doesn’t need to have this distracting her _ . 

It’s a short walk to the train station, made shorter by the fact that Mirko insists they take a route over the tops of buildings to get there. Izuku doesn’t talk much, on the way over, because the conversation he’d overheard the night before is playing in his head, over and over again, and he’s starting to get light headed. He’s not sure if it’s from the lack of food or lack of sleep, but either way his head feels fuzzy and heavy by the time they’re boarding the train that will take them to Hosu City. Izuku sits next to Mirko when they step into the mostly empty compartment, and he doesn’t miss the way she looks over him, frowning.

“Are you... okay?” she asks, voice quiet. “You look fucking exhausted.”

“I’m okay,” Izuku answers, not denying that he’s exhausted. As if punctuating his point, his stomach grumbles at that exact moment, and Izuku cringes and the way Mirko raises an eyebrow at him.

“Did you even eat before you came to my place? And did you  _ sleep _ last night?” She sighs, shaking her head. “Jeez kid, I thought you would have gotten home around midnight.”

Izuku shrugs. “I, um, did some training after I got back?” he says, not looking at Mirko. “And I brought a granola bar, I just forgot to eat it on the way over.” He tugs his backpack into his lap from where he’d set it on the floor, unzipping it and pulling out the granola bar to show her. The package is crinkly in his hands.

“Well, eat it now, doofus,” she says, scowling. “Why’d you train at night? Did I not go hard enough on you yesterday or something? You sure seemed worn out by the end.”

Izuku shakes his head, unwrapping the granola bar with shaking fingers. “I-I just thought I needed it,” he says, unable to tell her what he was  _ actually _ doing. The granola bar smells sweet, like honey and oats and chocolate. The smell makes his stomach rumble again.

“Well, you don’t need it more than you need sleep, kid.” Mirko sighs. “Look at me for a sec.” Izuku blinks, then complies, meeting her dark red eyes.

“I know I have a reputation for being a badass,” she starts, “but even I sleep. Every hero does. If you don’t, you get sloppy, and people get hurt. Yourself included,” she says, raising her brows pointedly. “Tonight, I want you to promise me you’ll sleep when you get home. If you don’t, I’m gonna kidnap you and make you sleep on my shitty couch,” she says, a slight grin tugging at her lips.

“It’s not shitty,” Izuku says, taking a bite of his granola bar. “And I’ll try to sleep tonight.”

“Not try,” Mirko says, rolling her eyes at him. “You  _ will _ .” Izuku swallows his bite of food.

“Okay,” he says, because the exhaustion he’s feeling is really, honestly not pleasant. “I’ll get some rest tonight.”  _ I’ll need it, after Stain and Shigaraki attack Hosu. _

“Good,” Mirko says, seemingly satisfied. Izuku lets out a soft breath of relief and takes another bite of his granola bar, glancing back down at his phone as he does. There’s still no reply from Iida.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: none i think
> 
> discord: https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt
> 
> thank you as always for reading and for supporting me!!! it means SO MUCH you have no idea.
> 
> also if you saw me leaving the outline in last time.... no u didn't


	28. internship, part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku got some juicy juicy intel on gekkeiju, aka that group leadfoot is in, and he let aizawa know! now him and mirko are headed to hosu city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys!!! class starts tomorrow omg im nervous. hopefully i can still update daily!!!! sorry if this isn't as good as usual i didn't sleep well last night ugh

Izuku isn’t surprised, exactly, when the side of the train explodes inward, the metal just twenty feet away from him curling in and snapping, breaking with a horrible sound like a screech of a dying animal, but he still startles, because  _ isn’t it a bit soon? _ Some part of him had thought that, at least, the attack would wait until they’d gotten off the train, waited until they’d had a chance to meet up with the other heroes that were coming to the area. Izuku supposes it’s not allowed to be that easy, not with him. He still wishes it could be for once when he looks over to the gaping hole in the side of the train and sees a Noumu, skin a pale sickly grey, climb through into the train. 

He’s on his feet in a heartbeat, the empty granola bar wrapper dropping to the ground as Mirko stands beside him, already running at the Noumu, leg extending into a strong kick that sends the thing flying back out of the train. She whips her head back to look at him, red eyes wide and white hair rippling in the wind.

“Stay here, kid!” She shouts back at him, but Izuku is already running toward the gap. 

“No way!” he replies, following her as she jumps from the train onto a building below, a drop that stings the bottom of his feet even through his shoes but doesn’t cause any real damage. Mirko glares at him, but keeps moving, dashing after the Noumu.

“Yeah, I appreciate the thought, but stop!” she shouts. “You’re still a civilian, brat.” It takes all of Izuku’s skills to keep up with her, stopping about ten feet behind her on a roof as she kicks down onto the Noumu’s skull, sending its head slamming into the concrete. 

“It’s not like I can get charged with illegal quirk usage,” he points out, unsheathing a knife from his belt and jumping forward at the Noumu where Mirko’s foot has it pinned to the roof. He draws the knife down along its muscular neck, wincing away as blood sprays out at him, too dark to be that of a human. 

“Yeah, but you can fucking  _ die _ ,” Mirko points out, leaning down to grab the bleeding, pinned Noumu and twist its head at the neck. Izuku grits his teeth at the sickening crunch it makes, but more than that, the way the Noumu doesn’t stop struggling, even as its neck is broken. 

“So can the civilians of Hosu,” Izuku points out, watching as Mirko stomps down on the Noumu’s head again. It doesn’t get up or move at all, this time, not as its head cracks open like an egg smashed on the side of a mixing bowl. “And they don’t have weapons or training to help themselves.”

Mirko huffs out a long breath of air, glancing to the north with her ears twitching. “Fine,” she growls. “But I don’t fucking like it. Don’t get your skinny ass killed, you got that?”

“I’ll try,” Izuku mutters, turning and running to where he can see a fight breaking out from his vantage point on the roof. There’s fire and there’s blood, but what really stands out are the Noumu,  _ multiple _ Noumu, each a slightly different shape or size. Izuku bites his lip as he jumps to the next roof, rolling through the impact and hopping back to his feet just in time to stop at the edge, glancing down to see a fire escape. He doesn't hesitate to drop himself down onto it, running down the stairs and onto the ground below, the sounds of fighting louder, down here. 

Izuku runs, his new costume boots broken in already from the patrol yesterday as they pound against the concrete, taking him closer to the sounds of conflict, to the crackle of fire and the screams of pain. Izuku knows to expect something awful, knows to expect something bloody, but he’s not prepared to turn around a corner and see  _ this _ to see Noumus that tower over the people on the ground, dust and smoke mingling in a thick cloud that rises. There’s a hero on the ground, curling on her side and not moving, and above it all, Izuku can hear shouting, orders being given, and a male voice yelling, desperate and worried.

“Tenya!” The voice cries, and Izuku’s blood runs cold as he looks over the scene, trying to find where he’s sure he’ll see Iida’s broken body, maybe burned or crushed or just collapsed among the rubble and the flames and the Noumu, the giant, terrifying Noumu. Izuku isn’t sure if there’s smoke in his throat or something else as he listens to that hero call Iida’s given name, over and over again.

“Stay back,” another hero orders, whipping her hand out to stop Izuku from stepping closer. “The pros will handle this. Go follow evacuation orders!” she shouts, and Izuku realizes she thinks he’s just another civilian. Izuku blinks, nodding, and he turns and runs before he can think about it. His brain is already assembling the pieces. 

_ Stain and whoever Gekkeiju sent aren’t here _ , he realizes, blood running cold.  _ Stain isn’t here. Iida, whose brother was attacked by Stain, who took an internship in Hosu with a small agency, who hasn’t really spoken to anyone since the attack, is missing.  _ Izuku grits his teeth and runs away from the battlefield, towards the small alleys and side streets that line the area. He doesn’t know where Stain is, and it makes his heart clench in his chest because he also doesn’t know who Fangirl is, doesn’t know if Iida is even  _ alive _ . 

He supposes he was worrying for nothing, because the first thing he sees when he turns down an alleyway that is just a touch too loud, just too dark for Izuku  _ not  _ to turn down it, is Iida, on the ground under the foot of a man who is licking dark crimson blood off a sharp silver blade, his tongue too long and his face wrapped in filthy bandages. A scarf the same color as the blood flutters around his neck. Iida isn’t moving, but he’s yelling and breathing, so Izuku doesn’t hesitate as he throws himself at Stain, knives already out just on instinct. He drives two blades into Stain’s shoulder, shouting.

“Iida!” He screams, voice raw from the volume of it. “I’m here to save you!” He skitters back as Stain slashes out at him, barely missing, the air displaces by the knife whistling as Izuku pulls back, his own blades dripping with the Hero Killer’s blood.

“How cute,” a female voice says, a  _ familiar _ one, and Izuku looks past Stain into the shadows, just in time to see Manami, dressed just the same as that night before in what looks like a school uniform and thigh highs, her legs covered in self-harm wounds and her hand clutching that metal baseball bat that shines in the sunlight as she steps out of the darkness. Her amber eyes look different, and Izuku realizes, suddenly, that her pupils aren’t heart-shaped, not this time. She has that same wicked grin on her face, but it doesn't reach quite as high, and in the sunlight, Izuku can see many, many pale, thin scars on her tanned skin. She looks at Izuku, and he feels a ripple of fear go through him before remembering that she  _ doesn’t know him _ . 

“You’re gonna save your friend?” She asks, tipping her head and reaching her free hand up to her face, her fingers hovering just centimeters above the skin of her cheek. “I’d like to see that,” she murmurs, resting her hand on her face. Izuku watches as her form flickers, blurs and warps slightly as the edges of her shine rainbow colors. It fades just as quickly as it started, and Izuku can see that now her pupils are hearts once again, and that grin grows wider, sicker. 

“Midoriya,” Iida gasps from the ground. “I can’t move since I got slashed. It must be his quirk.” Izuku spares a glance down at him to see that his arm and cheek are cut, bleeding onto the ground. Izuku swallows, looking back up at Stain and Manami--no,  _ Fangirl _ \--as they watch him.

“I figured as much,” he replies, his eyes glued to the villains in front of him. “I’m going to save you,” he says, again, even though he has no earthly idea how he’s going to take down two villains, essentially alone. Manami is looking at him as she runs her tongue over her top teeth, giggling, but it’s Stain who speaks.

“That’s a nice line,” he says, “but I have a duty to kill this man. If you get in the way, it is the weak who will be killed.” He meets Izuku’s eyes and Izuku feels a shiver of some primal fear run like lightning along his spine. It’s clear to Izuku that Stain is different, then from Shigaraki. He doesn’t just want to destroy because he can, doesn’t have that childish energy that Shigaraki has. His gaze is cold, and it is hungry. Izuku knows he has to fight him, if Iida is going to survive this. 

“Midoriya,” Iida grunts from his place on the ground, still under Stain’s foot. “Get out of here. This doesn’t concern you.” Izuku blinks, frowning.

“Iida, I--” He shakes his head, cutting himself off. “Heroes have to know when to ask for help,” he says, like he’s said before in reference to himself. He’s not going to let Iida die, not when he got here with enough time to  _ save _ him.

“I’m not asking for your help,” Iida spits out, and  _ oh _ , Izuku blinks down at him, sees angry tears in his friend’s eyes. “This doesn’t concern you, Midoriya. Go  _ away _ ,” he growls, angry and desperate and Izuku gives him a soft smile. 

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he says, voice soft, and that seems to be enough for Stain, because the Hero Killer is rushing forward in a movement that’s so quick Izuku has to wonder how  _ that _ isn’t his quirk. 

He whips out his sword so fast that it’s a thin blur of light and blood as it whisks past Izuku, just over his head when he ducks and slides forward on the ground. It’s one thing to fight against knives, but to fight against a sword, Izuku knows he can't stay too far back or he’ll be out of his own range. Stain is chuckling as Izuku pulls up close, his own knives in hand. 

“Closing the distance against a long-ranged weapon?” he asks, voice rough and low. “Smart.” He reaches to his side, his hands wrapping around the hilt of a knife. Iida gasps from behind him.

“If you get cut--” he shouts, just as Izuku blocks the slash with his arm guard, the metal sliding harmlessly against the tough surface with a gritting noise. Stain  _ grins _ his tongue poking out over his lips, and sends a shiver of cold fear through Izuku. He sees a blur of red and silver from behind Stain, and it’s all the warning he gets before Manami is reaching up, her bare hand touching the Hero Killer’s neck, just three fingers. Izuku watches, dumbstruck, as Stain’s form flickers in multicolor like Manami’s had. The heart-shaped pupils that look creepy on Manami look  _ wrong wrong wrong _ on Stain, but not quite as much as the wicked grin that spreads across his face like the blood spilled on the sidewalk. 

“Oh,” Stain says, his voice a rumbling laugh that seems to flow out of him too fast, too strongly. “Oh, Fangirl, I  _ get it _ now, I understand what you meant,” he cackles, and when he swings his arm to slice at Izuku with the shorter knife, it’s faster, so fast Izuku doesn’t even see the motion until the knife is buried in his side, the sharp blade cutting right through his costume and digging into the flesh of his waist, just below his false ribs. The pain is sharp and hot, and when Stain pulls the blade back and runs his tongue along it, Izuku falls to the ground, limbs frozen and useless. All he can do is look where his head is pointed, up at Stain where he slowly, carefully cleans his blade with his tongue, chuckling and shaking as he does, his shoulder moving. 

“Just stay having fun, ‘kay?” Fangirl says, stepping past him to stare at Izuku, limbs like heavy stones on the cool concrete. “You know I can’t turn it off, and I wouldn’t want you to have a bad time!” She giggles, then stomps down on the concrete next to Izuku’s head, cracking it as her foot sinks into it a few inches. Izuku swallows, roughly, because Manami has a quirk that lets her give people--herself included--super strength, it seems. And Stain has a quirk that paralyzes you if he eats your blood. And Izuku is frozen, pinned to the ground beside his friend. Izuku realizes, abruptly, he can barely even  _ breathe _ , his body is so still, so unresponsive. He can hear his own labored breathing, rough and scratchy and too quiet, too shallow. 

“This one was on Shigaraki’s list, too, wasn’t he?” Stain asks, and Manami shrugs, bouncing her baseball bat on the ground. 

“Maybe. I dunno. I’m gonna kill him anyway! Why don’t you help?” she asks, looking up at Stain with huge eyes and an even huger smile. “I can smash in his ribs and you can slit his throat!”

Stain scowls, his face dropping into something like disgust. “I don’t kill for pleasure,” he says, growling. “You should know, that, you insufferable--”

“Remember what I said about staying happy?” Manami bounces on her feet. “You’ve gotta keep it up, hmm? I’m not saying this for my benefit, you know.” Stain narrows his eyes at her, then takes a deep breath. The same sick smile splits his face.

“I’ll kill this one,” Stain says, pointing his sword at Izuku’s throat. “You can have the other one. This one at least  _ tried _ to act as a hero should, even if he was too weak to back up his own words.” Stain presses the sword, cool and razor-sharp to the flesh on Izuku’s neck. Izuku can feel it press into his throat with every frantic heartbeat.

“Deal,” Manami says, and it’s the last thing Izuku hears as the sword is plunged into his neck, sending him straight into blackness.

\--

Izuku opens his eyes with a gasp, blinking in the sudden artificial light of the train. A glance down at the empty granola bar wrapper in his hand tells him everything he needs to know, and he’s on his feet and turning even before the Noumu crashes through the walls of the train. 

“Deku!” Mirko shouts, getting to her feet and pulling him back, out of the way of the twisting metal and the flying debris. 

“Let go of me!” He shouts, over the noise and the chaos and the Noumu ripping itself free from the wound in the train. “My friend is in danger,” he says, breathless, and Mirko lets go of him, a confused look on her face. 

“What are you  _ talking _ about?” She asks, giving him an incredulous look, but he’s jumping out of the train and running in Iida’s direction before she can try and stop him. He’s still full of adrenaline, messy and heavy and making his legs move faster than they would otherwise, and it’s probably because of that that he doesn’t even feel bad as he runs, completely ignoring the fighting and the carnage that surrounds him as he heads to that small, dark alleyway. As he runs, he pulls his phone from his pocket, grimacing when he realizes that he doesn’t know who’s in the area. He types out the address of the alley itself and sends it to all of his contacts, praying it’ll be enough as he shoves his phone back in his pocket. 

He can see it, now, and he knows exactly what he’ll be running into but he doesn’t slow down, launching himself into the alleyway with a knife in each hand. He sees a scene that’s a little different than the last time; Iida is still standing, a dark look on his face as he glares at Stain.

“Iida,” Izuku breathes, and Iida whips around to face him. “His quirk paralyzes you if he tastes your blood.” Iida’s face is twisted with rage, so angry that it almost scares Izuku.

“What are you  _ doing _ here?” Iida hisses, and Izuku has to rush forward and slam Iida out of the way of Stain’s sword so that his friend doesn’t get cut. 

“Saving you,” Izuku says, flicking his wrist forward and feeling his blade cut into Stain’s hand as Izuku ducks forward, close to Stain’s body. He can feel the heat of Stain’s blood as it splashes onto his hand, but Stain doesn’t drop his sword, instead jerking it away as he steps back, a scowl on his lips.

“Another one?” He hisses, stepping back and twisting his sword forward, at Izuku’s face. Izuku blocks it with his arm guard, using his forearm to push the sword up and leave Stain open, but Stain just whips his other hand forward and Izuku swears as a thin blade slides past him, cutting a fine line in Izuku’s cheek. The blade flies past him, clattering to the ground somewhere behind him. 

“That one’s on the list, too, I think,” Manami says, stepping out of the shadows. Her eyes are normal, and Izuku can see that she’s different. Calmer. “Lucky us, hmm Stainy?”

“Don’t call me that, “ Stain hisses, and he’s throwing himself at Izuku. This time, it’s Iida who pushes Izuku out of the way, his friend shoving him aside and out of the way with a burst of his engines.

“Stay out of this,” Iida says, his voice almost a growl. “This isn’t any of your business.”

“It  _ is _ my business if my friend is being attacked by villains,” Izuku fires back, dodging a quick swipe from Stain. 

“ _ I _ attacked  _ them _ ,” Iida replies, and  _ oh _ . Izuku blinks, and the moment that he’s reeling from that, the moment that he’s distracted is enough because suddenly Stain is on him, his tongue rasping over the thin cut on Izuku’s cheekbone, and Izuku drops to the ground. It’s not quite as bad as last time, he notes dully as he lies on the concrete floor, straining to move but unable to command his limbs to do anything other than shake in place.  _ At least this time I can breathe _ .

“Midoriya!” Iida shouts. “Are you okay?” Izuku thinks it’s a little late for Iida to worry about him, considering that he’d just told Izuku to go away while he attacked villains, probably for revenge, but Izuku doesn’t really mind. 

“It’s his quirk,” Izuku repeats. “Like I said earlier. You need to run, go get help.” Iida stares down at him, eyes wide and filled with flickering rage.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says. “I’m going to take down the man that hurt my brother.” He looks back to Stain and Fangirl where they stand, side by side. Izuku can see Manami tipping her head to the side slightly, a thoughtful look on her face.

“Midoriya and... Iida, right?” She says, a small smile spreading over her lips. “I wonder just how angry little Iida is, hmm?” She darts forward, and her hand is on Iida’s face, her fingers brushing the skin of his cheek even before he flinches. Izuku watches, paralyzed, as Iida’s form flickers a rainbow blur and his pupils bend and warp, turning into tiny little hearts. Iida takes a step back and Manami copies him, skipping to stand behind Stain, who seems to just be watching. Izuku has a horrible, horrible feeling in his chest as he watches Iida’s face change from surprise to fear to raw, pure anger. 

Iida steps back into something that resembles a fighting stance and  _ screams _ , an animalistic noise that Izuku would flinch away from if he could move at all. He can see the tears start to run down Iida’s face, can see the way Iida starts to grip at his own hair, tugging on it harshly. His friend pauses, then shakes his head and looks at Stain, his lip curling in disgust and anger and  _ grief _ .

“I’m going to kill you,” Iida says and his voice is rough, raw. “I’m going to kill you and I’m going to do it slowly so that you know what it  _ feels _ like. What it feels like for your idol to be...” Iida gasps, suddenly, his hands coming to his chest. “My brother...” he whispers, then drops to his knees, fresh tears running over his face and dripping off of his chin, onto the ground. Izuku can only watch in horror as Iida breaks down in front of the villains, breaks down as Stain watches and Manami  _ laughs _ .

“I guess he was more sad than he was angry,” Manami says, looking at Stain. “Do you wanna finish up here? I kind of want to...” she gestures at one of her hands with her other. “I’d like to  _ play _ ,” she finishes, touching her own wrist with her fingers. Izuku sees her blur, just like before, her pupils going into hearts, and she giggles, grin deepening.

Stain sighs. “I don’t understand the point of asking if you were going to do it before I answered,” he says. “But I can take care of these two brats.” He glances over at Izuku, still frozen on the concrete. “I’ll be merciful and do it quickly,” he adds, more to Izuku than to Manami. 

“Okay!” She replies, singsong, and she steps forward to leave the alley, but she doesn’t get very far. A curtain of gold and orange flame flares forward, curling around the edge of the alleyway and washing over Stain and Manami’s feet. They both hop back.

“It’s one after another today,” Stain growls, and Izuku lets out a breath he hadn’t been holding when it’s Todoroki’s voice he hears behind him.

“Midoriya,” he says, voice stern. “Next time, send me more than just a location. I’m late.” Izuku almost sobs at relief when he sees his friend’s legs step into view, sees him raise both hands in a fighting stance, ready to protect him and Iida.

“Their quirks,” Izuku says from his place on the ground, and he sees Todoroki glance down at him. “If Stain ingests your blood, it paralyzes you. If Man--Fangirl touches you, it makes you like  _ that _ ,” he finishes, looking at Iida and hoping Todoroki gets the message.

“Got it,” he replies, raising a hand wreathed in bright flame. “Don’t worry, in a few minutes, the pros will arrive, too. I’ll just have to keep my distance until then.” Izuku swallows as Todoroki waves his hand, a bright stream of flame rushing out and at Stain. He sees something, a twist of silver within the gold and red, and then Todoroki is stumbling back, blood running down the side of his neck, reflecting the light of his flames. 

“Shit,” Todoroki says, under his breath, and Izuku can’t help but agree with that sentiment. At that moment, Iida lets out another scream, tipping his head abc where he’s sitting on the ground. 

“Get  _ away _ from here!” he cries, shouting at Todoroki. “I don’t want your help! I don’t want either of you here,” he says, face red and breath coming in pants. “I inherited my brother’s name,” he says. “I’m the one... I’m the one who has to--”

“Funny,” Todoroki says, voice dry. “I’ve never seen Ingenium making a face like that.” Izuku watches a look of pure, utter horror wash over Iida’s face, just moments before a metal baseball bat swings, seemingly out of nowhere, crashing into Iida’s side and sending him flying. Manami is standing, just a few feet from Todoroki, a lazy smirk on her face and soft laughter bubbling in her throat.

“It’s like--” She stops, suddenly bending over to laugh. Todoroki lobs a set of ice spears at her, but she easily dodges, moving like a puppet yanked on invisible strings. “God, it’s like free television! Do you guys even listen to yourselves?” She keeps on  _ laughing _ , her voice loud in the alleyway even over the crackle of Todoroki’s fire. Izuku thinks that’s why he see Stain before Todoroki does.

“Todoroki!” he shouts, just as Todoroki raises an arm to block his face, three throwing knives sticking into the meat of his forearm. Izuku is close enough to hear the way he hisses in pain as Stain charges into him, knocking him over with ease and licking his long tongue along the bright red blood that flows from Todoroki’s arm. It’s a familiar sight, almost, except last time one of them had an arm cut open and bleeding, Izuku was on the floor of a bathroom. 

This time, Todoroki falls to the ground, anger on his face and blood on his sleeve. Izuku twitches an arm toward him, then remembers he shouldn’t be able to move as he hauls himself to his feet, staring at his friends, both on the ground. Iida isn’t moving, and his chest looks... wrong. Manami steps out from where she’s standing behind Stain. 

“Oh, just this one left?” Manami coos, swinging her bat at him in a wide arc that he dodges away from because she’s thrown it at him before. “I wonder what happens if I kill the others and make you watch, hmm? Would you cry?” She giggles, then she’s moving forward so quickly Izuku can't keep his eyes on her. He only knows where she is because the baseball bat crushes his shoulder, and he can both hear and feel the way the bones there, his arm and his collarbone all in one, shatter and crush under the impact. Izuku isn’t sure if he’s screaming, or if that’s Iida again. He’s not even sure if his eyes are still open or not, because he can’t see through the pain. 

“Kill me,” he says, gasping. “Kill me,  _ please _ ,” he begs, because with his shoulder destroyed like this there’s no way he can get Iida and Todoroki out of there, even if Iida’s still alive. His vision clears just in time to see Manami grin, wide enough that it presses her eyes into little crescents above her flushed cheeks.

“Gladly,” she purrs, and Izuku sees the bat coming down on his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: self harm wounds mentioned
> 
> discord: https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt
> 
> as always thank you SO MUCH for the support!! it really means a TON!! sorry for the short a/n tonight, im really tired rip


	29. internship, part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku found iida fighting stain and manami/fangirl and died! then he brought todoroki to the scene.... and died again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GUYS SO I MADE A BIG MISTAKE.... i forgot la brava existed.... and then made an oc with the same first name as her.... and the same hair style and hair/eye color.... and somewhat similar quirks....... whoops. none of that was intentional and any resemblance to la brava is a huge accident DFGHDFG so just. yeah. im a clown <3
> 
> school started up again today and so far it looks like it'll be chill enough for me to keep updating at my usual rate though so that's good!

Izuku opens his eyes on the train again, the pain fast fading from where it had still been clinging to his shoulder and ribs. He turns to Mirko as he jumps to his feet.

“I-I need your help,” he says, the exact second the Noumu crashes into the train in that crash of metal and light. Izuku keeps his gaze on Mirko, on her red eyes as they widen in surprise.

“Deku, what--” She starts, but Izuku cuts her off, shaking his head.

“There’s no time to explain,” he says, biting his lip. “My friend is in danger and I need your help.” Mirko blinks, then nods, and that’s all Izuku needs to turn and start running from the train, past where the Noumu is clinging to it. Mirko launches out of the train moments later, a kick colliding with the Noumu’s face and dislodging it from the body of the train, sending it crashing into the street below in a heap of grey skin and strange, misshapen limbs. Izuku pulls out his phone and hits call on Todoroki’s contact, switching it to speaker phone as Mirko lands beside him.

“I need to explain to both of you at once,” Izuku says, the phone ringing between them as he starts toward the alleyway. Mirko runs beside him, keeping pace with him even though he knows she could go faster. 

“Yeah, you’d better have one hell of an explanation,” she hisses, but Izuku thinks it’s worry he sees on her face, not anger. Izuku is saved from having to say something by the sound of Todoroki picking up.

“Midoriya?” He sounds annoyed. “I’m on patrol with my father, can this--”

“It can’t,” Izuku says, interrupting him. “I need you to come to the alleyway by Ekou street, 4-2-10. Iida is fighting the Hero Killer and a member of the Gekkeiju, and if we don’t get there in time he  _ will _ die.” Izuku has to pause to leap from one roof to another, breathing out sharply as the motion stings his knees.

“What?” Todoroki says, then, “I’m on my way. What else can you tell me?” Izuku hears the vague sound of Todoroki speaking to someone else, away from the receiver. 

“Stain’s quirk paralyzes you if he tastes your blood,” he says, glancing at Mirko who nods, her eyes on where she’s going but her ears angled ever-so-slightly toward Izuku. “M--Fangirl, that’s the other one, I don’t know what her quirk is, but don’t let her touch you. It’s something that enhances emotions and maybe strength but last--” Izuku shakes his head. “If she touches one of us, it’ll end badly,” he finishes instead. He hates the way he’s letting things slip, the way he’s telling them all of this without a good reason to know any of it, but Izuku knows from having done it twice now that the fight with Stain and Fangirl lasts mere minutes. One slip up will end with him or his friends dead. 

“How do you know all of this?” Todoroki asks, voice distorted by sounds of motion on the other end of the line. Izuku bites his lip. 

“Iida texted me,” he says, the lie coming easily. “You want more than just a location, don’t you?” He sees Mirko shoot him a glance from where she’s drawing slightly ahead of him, no doubt headed to the address he’d just given Todoroki.

“Yes,” Todoroki hisses, “this is better than just a location, but--” Izuku cuts him off.

“I gotta go, we’re getting close,” he says. “Bye, Todoroki.” Izuku fumbles with his phone, moving to hang up.

“Midoriya, wait--” Todoroki’s voice cuts off as Izuku hangs up, shoving the phone back into his pocket and drawing his knives instead as the alleyway comes into view. He’s not sure if it took extra time to alert them, if he was slower or faster than last time, and some part of him is scared that he’ll get there and see Iida already dead, already collapsed onto the ground. Izuku doubts that, even if Iida is fine, they’ll be successful this run through. He thinks that on some level, he’s expecting to die. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t mind that he’s saying far more than he should, or maybe it’s the sleep deprivation and the desperation that’s making him careless.

“You’re gonna be answering a lot of questions when this is over,” Mirko says, jumping from the last rooftop onto the ground in front of the alley, her white hair whipping at the movement. Izuku stores away  _ that _ anxiety for later as he climbs down the last fire escape, gritting his teeth when he hears the sounds of fighting before he’s even all the way to the ground. 

“Midoriya, what are you doing here?” Iida hisses just as he steps back, out of the alley and into view. “What have you done?”

“I brought you help so you don’t get yourself killed,” Izuku says back to him, pushing past him and into the alley itself.

The scene he sees is vastly different from last time, most notably because it includes his mentor lobbing a kick directly into Stain’s face, sending the villain skittering back a few steps as he hisses and slashes his sword forward, at Mirko’s arms. Mirko dodges with a spinning jump, propelling herself up to jump from the wall of one building to another, Stain’s sword a silver blur that chases her. Izuku steps into the alleyway and flicks his wrist out, throwing some of his smaller knives at Stain. It would have hit, he thinks, but Stain dodges out of the way of it and turns his gaze to Izuku.

“Another child?” He asks, then copies Izuku’s last move, throwing a knife out. The difference is that he throws it far faster, far more skillfully than Izuku ever could have, and it rushes at Izuku’s arm. Izuku manages to deflect it with his arm guards, but the motion leaves him open. He sees Mirko move to keep stain away from him at the same time Manami steps out from the shadow. Izuku grits his teeth.

“Mirko, behind you!” he shouts, and Mirko reacts instantly, sliding back out of the way of Manami’s baseball bat as she swings it down, a wide grin on her face.

“Oh, bunny ears!” Manami says, swaying back and out of the way of a swift punch Mirko throws at her. “You remind me of someone I know.”

“Yeah? Who’s that?” Mirko quips back, sweeping a foot forward at Manami’s legs. Izuku wants to keep watching, but Stain’s coming at him with a sword in one hand and a knife in the other, and he needs all of his attention focused to dodge out of the sword swipe and slide in close while blocking the smaller blade, thrusting his own knife towards Stain’s chest. He knows from the past fights that Stain moves a certain way, tends to move quick and neat, so it’s easier than it should be for Izuku to dodge Stain’s follow up swipe and use the movement to knee the man in the stomach. Stain hardly grunts, though, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly behind the bandages.

“You fight well, little hero,” Stain growls, and he’s darting forward as Izuku moves back, feeling a blade come so close to the skin of his face that he’s sure for a second he’s cut. He slides out of the way, bringing up a hand to feel his cheek, relieved to find no blood there. Stain’s already moving, though swiping his sword at Izuku again, and out of the corner of Izuku’s eye, he can see the colorful distortion of Manami using her quirk on herself, her laughs growing louder and wilder. Izuku bites his lip as he realizes, time moving almost in slow motion, that he isn’t going to be able to get his arm guards up in time to block this attack, to guard against the sword coming for his chest. Izuku braces himself for the pain, but he keeps his eyes open, so he sees the brilliant whip of red flame that shoots between Izuku and Stain, causing the villain to pull back with a scowl.

“The roaches just keep on coming,” he growls just as Izuku grins, stepping back to stand beside Todoroki. 

“Thanks for coming,” Izuku says, and Todoroki just gives him a look with one raised brow. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” he replies, rearing back and throwing a blast of glowing flame at Stain. “I see that you’ve had the sense to contact a pro as well.” Todoroki dodges back away from Stain’s blade as it comes at him.

“Yeah, well,” Izuku says, darting forward to draw the edge of his blade along the underside of Stain’s outstretched arm. “I figured four on two would be better.” Stain growls, whipping his other arm forward, and Izuku can’t help the little squeak he lets out as a throwing knife he hadn't even seen buries itself in his stomach, just above his right hip bone. Todoroki sends him a wall of ice, and Izuku takes the chance, moving back as he presses a hand to the bleeding wound in his gut, the knife still embedded in him. It burns sharp, like hot fire, but he knows not to take the blade out.

“Deku!” Mirko shouts, but Izuku can’t see her or Iida because of the ice wall in front of him. “Was that you? Are you okay?” Izuku hears a metallic clank, then the ice wall shatters and Manami is flying forward through the shards, her baseball bat smeared with dark blood. Izuku braces himself and blocks her incoming hit with both forearms, and he winces when he hears his reinforced guards crack and strain under the force. The force of the hit is unnatural, and Izuku feels pain radiate through both of his arms as he shoves forward at Manami, forcing her to step back. 

“I’m okay!” he shouts back at Mirko, who he can see fighting Stain out of the corner of his eye, with Iida throwing a kick to Stain’s back and Mirko rushing in with ann elbow strike that hits Stain’s chest but doesn’t avoid the blade he sticks out at the last moment, cutting a thin stripe up the length of Mirko’s arm. Izuku has to look away, tearing his eyes from his friend and his mentor, as Fangirl swings her bat at him again, this time from the side. Izuku dodges inward, so her wrists contact his side instead of the bat, and even though he only gets a fraction of the force of her hit, it’s enough to knock the breath out of him. He gasps for breath, grateful when Todoroki shoves Manami away from him with a swell of ice that rises from the ground.

“Fuck!” Mirko shouts, and Izuku doesn’t have to look to know she’s downed by Stain’s quirk, but he does anyway, seeing her on her stomach on the ground, Stain standing in front of her an dlicking the underside of his knife. He must have gotten some of Iida’s blood, too, because Iida is in a similar position and his shoulder is bleeding, badly. Izuku grits his teeth. 

“Todoroki, you take Stain,” he says. “You’ve got more ranged attacks than I do. Don’t underestimate him,”Izuku says, glancing at Todoroki just as Todoroki nods, stepping forward and away from Manami without a second glance. Izuku turns back to Manami, who’s watching him, humming quietly under her breath.

“Aren’t you underestimating  _ me _ , kiddo?” She asks, bouncing the bloody bat against the palm of her hand. Izuku thinks, briefly, that she must have gotten Iida’s shoulder. It looks like his would have, last time.

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” he says in reply, readying his blades as she takes a step forward. He dodges under her strike, but when he goes to slash at her throat, she just laughs, slamming a knee up into his stomach, and Izuku realizes the attack with the baseball bat had just been a feint. He can  _ hear _ more than feel his ribs cracking, and it’s not from quirk overuse when he drops to and throws up, blood streaking through the vomit. He looks up, adrenaline flashing through his veins as he readies himself to be hit in the head or the shoulder or anything, but what he sees is Manami’s hand moments before it touches his face.

Izuku feels the cool, gentle touch first, then a sensation like he’s being shaken, like he’s on a rollercoaster that just dropped down the biggest hill. His vision blurs, rainbow colors bleeding into every motion anything makes, and then he feels his fear, sharp and loud already, grow in a way that makes his heart stutter and shake in his chest. He feels like his chest is ripping open, like he can't breathe and like he’s choking on something, horrible and heavy and sour blood in his throat or maybe just in his mind. 

He hears someone scream, raw and terrified and awful, and he knows it’s him because he can feel his throat aching at the force of it, but he can't make himself stop, not until he’s thrown to the ground, Manami’s backhand bruising his cheek and sending him flying across the concrete. Something that feels like anger flashes through him, but it doesn’t compare to the thick, heavy curtain of fear. His vision is still rainbow edged, like the blurs that come with motion are tinted in colors, but he’s able to bring himself to his feet, somehow, even with the way he thinks his heart is going to catch fire and burn from the sheer speed it’s beating. Manami laughs at him.

“God, you’re really, honestly, just scared, huh? I thought you’d be angry or, I dunno,  _ determined _ or something, but it’s all just fear.” Manami cackles, tipping her head back and resting the heel of one palm on her forehead. “It’s going to be  _ so  _ much fun to watch you die,” she says, then drops her hand and lunges at him. 

Izuku doesn’t know what happens when he goes to dodge, but it’s like the world stutters, briefly, just for a heartbeat, and he moves quicker than he’s ever moved before, his legs stronger and quicker than they’ve been, even when he’s injured like he is. It surprises him, and the surprise is stronger and brighter than he’s ever felt, but it’s enough to lessen the cold claws of fear that grip him, and he’s able to press himself against the wall of the alleyway and glance to the side, where he sees Mirko pulling herself up off the ground and Todoroki standing, covered in blood as he breathes himself in fire to keep Stain back. 

“Hey, pay attention to  _ me! _ ” Manami says, giggling, and Izuku turns back at her just in time to sidestep the punch she throws. Where it hits the wall behind him, the bricks crack and break, crumbling. Izuku grits his teeth and feels something bitter and hot and not angry but  _ close _ fills him, and he lashes out with a messy punch. It misses, because it was stupid and poorly aimed, and it leaves him open enough for Manami to drop her baseball bat and reach up to grab his neck, easily holding him off the ground in a bruising grip.

“God, you’re a quick one, aren’t you?” She coos, squeezing his throat enough that his head feels like it’s under pressure, tight and full of blood as his heart frantically beats in his chest. His fear from before comes back at full strength, mixed with a crushing sense that he fucked up, that he should have been faster. That he should have been  _ better _ . Izuku writhes in her grip, gasping for air as black spots fill in his vision, but the only thing on his mind is that he deserves to die this time. He’d been the one to bring Todoroki and Mirko here to get hurt, and he’d been the one to throw the stupid punch that had gotten him in this position anyway. Izuku suddenly, desperately, just wants it to be  _ over. _ He drops his hands from where Manami is holding him, flicking his wrist on his right hand and pulling out one of his hidden knives. 

He’s not even sure she sees him as he twists, driving the knife into the flesh of her wrist. She yelps, dropping him to the ground, and Izuku wants to use the chance to hit her again, but all he can do is sit on the ground, knees on the cold concrete and gasp for breath, huge, wheezing gasps that make him dizzy. The guilt that he feels is overwhelming, heavy and sickening and it makes Izuku pick up his knife and stick out his arm, driving the tip of the already bloody knife into the flesh just above the arm guards. 

For a second, just a second, he feels that blissful wave of nothing, of numbness and euphoria that comes with this, and it must be that that breaks the quirk, because when that instant ends, things are clear again. Colors are no longer too-bright, no longer tinted multicolor, and his emotions feel normal, feel  _ calm _ compared. He’s still guilty, still scared, but he can also look up and focus enough to see Stain’s unconscious body on the ground, surrounded by ice, and to watch as Manami leaps away from a kick Mirko sends at her, landing atop a roof nearby.

“See ya next time!” She shouts, waving, then rushes away. Izuku can see Mirko jerk, like she’s going to chase after her, but something stops her, and she turns back to look directly at Izuku. 

“Shit, kid, what the hell?” She hisses, rushing over to him. Izuku blinks, then looks down to see that he’d cut his own arm a little deeper than he’d meant to, and now he’s bleeding all over the ground.

“Oops,” he says. “I-I was trying to break her quirk, and I guess it worked, but...” he trails off. It’s a good excuse, really, definitely better than telling Mirko that he just felt really really bad and this is what he does when he feels bad. 

“Midoriya, are you okay?” Todoroki asks, walking over to look him over just as Mirko puts pressure on the cut on his wrist. Izuku brushes her hand away, replacing it with his own and struggling to his feet. His neck and stomach ache, and he’s definitely, definitely got some broken ribs, but for now, adrenaline seems to be enough to keep him on his feet.

“I’m okay,” he answers, looking Todoroki over. “Are you?” His friend is covered in cuts, most of them shallow, but he’s bleeding quite a bit. His hand is clamped on his upper arm, holding pressure to a knife wound. Todoroki nods. 

“I’m fine. Iida’s awake, but his arm is...” Todoroki trails off as Izuku pushes past him, staring at where Iida is resting against the wall. His arm is crushed, like Izuku’s was last reset, but Manami must have hit him lower down than she hit Izuku because it looks like his collarbone has been spared most of the impact. Iida is staring at the ground, glasses missing and his eyes full of tears.

“Midoriya,” he says, and Izuku steps toward him. “I’m sorry. I got so caught up in my head that I--” He shakes his head, biting his lip. “Todoroki was right,” he breathes, and even though Izuku has no idea what Todoroki said to Iida this time around, he nods. 

“It’s okay, Iida,” he says in reply, his voice raspy and strange sounding. “What matters is that you’re safe.” Iida looks up at him, and Izuku gives him a small smile, but Iida gasps. 

“Midoriya, your throat...” He shakes his head, and Izuku reaches a hand up to feel the skin of his neck. It stings when he touches it, and it feels swollen and hot, but it’s not that bad. The pain at the base of his ribs, in his stomach, is far worse, but Izuku doesn’t want to say that. 

“It’s probably worse than it looks,” Izuku offers, and Iida just sighs, looking back down at the ground. Izuku wants to say something to comfort him, but he’s not sure he knows how. 

“Deku,” Mirko calls, and Izuku turns to see her and Todoroki wrapping a length of rope around Stain. “You should sit down,” she says, jerking her head at where Iida sits. 

Izuku shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he insists, even as his stomach rolls strangely and something warm and coppery rises in his throat. It must show on his face, because he blinks and suddenly Mirko is right in front of him, hands on his shoulders and guiding him to the ground. Izuku coughs, weakly, and he leans to the side to spit up the blood in his mouth.

“Shit,” Mirko curses, and Izuku blinks up at her. 

“‘M okay,” he says, his voice slurring. He realizes, vaguely, that this is the adrenaline wearing off, but it doesn’t make it any easier to stay awake as his eyes are suddenly drooping, his stomach burning and aching with every breath. He feels his eyes slide shut, feels hands lowering him to the ground, moving him into the recovery position, and then he loses consciousness.

\--

When Izuku opens his eyes, he feels the world shifting and moving strangely before his vision focuses. He blinks, taking in the way he can see white hair and hear Mirko talking, and realizes he’s on her back, draped across her shoulders in a fireman's carry.

“Mirko?” he asks, voice thick and slurred still, but it must be clear, because he feels the arm wrapped around his leg squeeze gently.

“Hey, Deku, welcome back,” Mirko says, and Izuku can see the edge of her face if he twists just right. 

“What’s going on?” Izuku asks, straining to look up, but he doesn’t get very far, his stomach and ribs throbbing in protest. Mirko’s grip on him tightens, but not to the point of pain.

“We’re getting you kids to where the ambulances can reach, and we’re getting Stain to the cops so his ass can go rot in jail,” Mirko answers. “How are you feeling?” 

“Okay,” Izuku replies, because it’s not totally a lie. He mostly feels very, very tired and also like his chest and stomach are on fire. Mirko hums in response, and she definitely doesn’t sound like she believes him, but that’s okay.

“Iida and Todoroki,” Izuku says, pausing to breathe, which is kind of embarrassing to have to do, “are they okay?”

“They’re both fine,” Mirko says. “You have the worst injuries out of everyone. Both of them are walking; they’re right behind us.” She leans her head back. “Right, guys?”

“Right,” Todoroki echoes. 

“We’re both here,” Iida says, voice sounding troubled. “I’m so sorry, Midoriya, it’s my fault you’re injured.”

“No, it’s Stain and Fangirl’s,” Izuku replies, almost laughing but not willing to risk hurting his ribs any more than breathing alone already does. “Not your fault.”

“Still, I--” Iida is cut off by a shout from someone in front of them, a hero that Izuku remembers seeing when he’d run into the scene of the battle the first time. She points up at the sky and yells,

“Watch out!” Izuku doesn’t see the Noumu, but he certainly feels it when it grips him at the waist, ripping him out of Mirko’s grip and into the sky. 

“Midoriya!” Iida shouts and the same time that Mirko yells his hero name, and Izuku blinks, the cool air whipping around him as he’s lifted higher and higher. He twists in the Noumu’s grasp, his ribs and stomach burning at the movement, but he’s able to sink his teeth into the Noumu’s foot where it’s gripping him tightly. He doesn’t have his costume fangs in--he’d had them out to eat on the train and never got the chance to put them back in--but it must startle the Noumu, or hurt it a little, or  _ something _ , because in the next heartbeat Izuku is falling through the air, something that tastes like rotten in his mouth.

Izuku isn’t sure what happens next, exactly, because whoever catches him does so  _ right _ where his broken ribs are, and his vision goes fuzzy and dark for a few minutes. He hears someone talking, someone with a voice that’s too familiar to him and that he knows he should be afraid of, but that same person is pinning him to the ground in a way that presses his injury into the concrete and Izuku can’t breathe, let alone think. He’s released, suddenly, and Izuku takes one moment just to gasp, using the next to turn over. 

What he sees should surprise him, but Izuku doesn’t think he has it in him to be surprised right now, not with the way his chest feels like it’s ripped open and the way his throat is burning, swollen and hot. He sees Stain, glaring back at him, at the heroes behind him. He sees a reflection of fire, bright and big in Stain’s eyes. He thinks he might even see the  _ malice _ , the anger and hatred and  _ pain _ coming off of Stain.

“Another phony,” he growls. “The fake must be rectified. Someone must stain himself with his blood.” His voice rises, louder and rougher with each word. “The word hero must be restored!” He stomps forward, his foot slamming onto the ground not far from where Izuku is laying.

“Come!” the Hero Killer screams. “Just try, you pretenders! The only one who is allowed to kill me is All Might!” Izuku shivers, trying to scoot himself back, to move away from Stain before he can attack, but he doesn’t need to. 

“He’s lost consciousness,” someone breathes from behind him, and Izuku swallows, heart pounding in his chest. 

\--

Izuku must have passed out at some point after that, even though he doesn’t recall exactly when, because the next thing he knows, he’s in the hospital. He blinks his eyes open, staring up at the IV bag that’s slowly dripping a clear liquid into a tube. The lights here are different from the ones in the UA infirmary, so he knows he’s at a real hospital, but somehow that doesn’t make him feel better.

“Midoriya?” Todoroki’s voice makes Izuku blink, and he turns his head to the side to see Iida and Todoroki sitting on hospital beds in the same room as him, each of them wearing hospital gowns. Iida has a blue cast covering his entire left arm, and both of them have a fair number of bandages, but other than that, they seem to be fine. 

“Hi,” Izuku says, sitting up and blinking to clear the sleep from his eyes. “Did I miss anything important?”

“Depends on if you remember when the Noumu picked you up or not,” a familiar voice says from behind him, and Izuku turns to see Mirko leaning on the doorway, arms crossed over her chest. There’s a bandage on her arm and another on her face, but she looks almost completely uninjured.

“I-I do,” Izuku says, biting his lip and looking back over at his friends. Todoroki gives him a nod. Mirko sighs from the doorway.

“I’m supposed to let you know that you’ve got a ‘visitor’ waiting,” she makes air quotes, rolling her eyes, “but I’m not gonna tell them you’re all awake until you’re ready.” She looks to Izuku as she says it. “You’ve been out for around eight hours, by the way.” 

Izuku nods, biting his lip and looking down at his chest. He can’t see anything under the hospital gown, but he can feel the tight bandages wrapped around him, and he has no doubt that the IV going into the crook of his left arm is giving him some pretty powerful painkillers. He frowns, then reaches up to his throat, feeling gauze there, too. 

“I can’t believe we made it,” he breathes, not really intending to say it out loud. It has more weight than the others know, even when Iida nods and glances at his own shoulder. Todoroki is still the one who speaks, though.

“I think it would have been worse if Stain wasn’t there,” he comments, looking at his arm where there’s a tightly bound bandage. “It was almost like he was holding back the other villain.” He looks to Iida. “You faced both of them alone before we got there, right? I’m impressed.” He smiles, ever so slightly. “I was supposed to come to your rescue and all I did was struggle.”

Iida blinks, looking down at his lap. “I’m... it’s not...” He trails off, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“It’s okay, Iida,” Izuku says, keeping his voice gentle. “We don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready.” He sees Todoroki nod in agreement, and after a second, Iida nods as well, clenching his uninjured arm in the fabric of his hospital gown.

“Do you guys think you can take that visitor now?” Todoroki asks. “I want to get it over with.” He doesn’t look nervous, per say, but Izuku thinks there’s something like apprehension on his face, under his normal cool expression. 

“I’m okay with it,” Izuku replies and Iida takes a deep breath, then wipes his arm over his eyes and looks up.

“I am as well,” Iida says, his blue eyes catching Izuku’s gaze for just a second. Izuku holds the eye contact for just a heartbeat, then looks over to Mirko, who nods, then leans out of the doorway, angling her head to look down the hallway. 

“Hey, they’re all awake!” She calls, voice too loud for a hospital. Izuku winces, hoping that there aren’t any other patients nearby for her to wake up. She shifts, looking back in at them, then smiles sympathetically.

“Good luck, brats. I don’t know the details, but...” She meets Izuku’s eyes. “They’re concerned about a couple of things. I’ll be right here with you.” Izuku wonders why she would be worried, but he doesn’t have time to think about it because Mirko steps into the room and leans against the wall beside the door just as two figures walk in, both in neat suits. One has the head of a dog and the other looks plain, with blakc hair and brown eyes. They’re both wearing badges, though, and it’s clear to Izuku that they’re police officers.

“Hello,” the dog one says, his voice a little bit odd. “I am Chief Tsuragamae, ruff. I’m here to talk to you about the events that took place earlier today.” He glances over them, raising a hand when they all start to stand. Izuku is kind of stuck on the ‘ruff’ thing, actually, but he’s also nervous.

“You can all remain seated,” he says, a light chuckle in his voice. “I know you’ve been through quite a lot.” He glances to the plain looking man at his side. “This is Detective Tsukauchi. He’ll be asking you a few questions after this is all over, but first I’d like to talk about the Hero Killer and the villain Fangirl.” Izuku stiffens, and he can feel the tension in the room rise with their names.

“The Hero Killer sustained injuries, and is currently being treated for broken bones, knife wounds, and burns, among other things,” Tsuragamae says, makes eye contact with each of them in turn. “Since quirks first showed themselves in our society, the police have made it a point to not use them as weapons. Rather, heroes rose to fulfill that niche in society, and naturally, rules were created to make sure that those without good intentions or control over their powers did not use their quirks at their own discretion.” His gaze pauses on Izuku for just a moment longer, before he stares at Todoroki and Iida. “In order to maintain the balance of things, if some were to choose to use their quirks against another without proper licensure, even if their enemies were, say, the Hero Killer himself, they would be held liable.” Izuku feels a shiver run down his spine, but it’s Todoroki who jumps to his feet.

“Do you think they would have just let Iida live if he turned and walked away from them?” Todoroki says, stepping toward the chief. “Do you think he would have survived if Midoriya hadn’t gotten Mirko and I to help him? We had supervision, and it was a life-threatening scenario, and you’re saying we should have just stepped back? Do you think Mirko could have held her own against them while protecting the three of us?” Todoroki is practically hissing, and Izuku gets to his feet, ready to stop him, but it’s Mirko who actually does. She sticks an arm out, between Chief Tsuragamae and Todoroki.

“Kid, I get your point, but let the dude finish. He’s getting somewhere.” She makes eye contact with Todoroki, it looks like, and after a moment of tense staring, Todoroki steps back with a huff.

Tsuragamae sighs. “You are really just children, after all.”He brings a hand to his muzzle, like he’s thinking. “That’s what I am required to say as the chief of police. As for my actual opinion...” He pauses, glancing at Izuku with a slight smile on his face. “One of you saw that his friend was in danger, contacted his mentor and his peer, and asked for help. I don’t think any disciplinary action is necessary, so long as this is kept out of the eye of the public, that is.” He sighs. “Unfortunately, it was still illegal for Iida and Todoroki to use their quirks without their own mentors present. However, so long as it is not publicly known that you two were involved, there should be no effects on your reputation or records as shining heroes to be.” He smiles at them, then gives a thumbs up.

“After all, I wouldn’t want something like this  _ dogging _ your records when all you were trying to do was help each other!” He nods to them, still smiling. “So, while you may not be able to receive the public praise you deserve...” he bows to them, a quick motion. “I, at least, would like to thank you for your good work, as someone who aims to protect the people.” He stays bowed for a moment before straightening up, and the room is silent for a few moments, at least until Todoroki sighs, stepping back to plop back onto the bed.

“Say that right out of the gate, next time,” he mutters, and Izuku can't help the laugh that bubbles out of him at the pout on his friend’s face.

“Ah, there is one more thing,” Tsukauchi says, an apologetic smile on his face. “I’d like to ask you a few questions in private, Midoriya. It shouldn’t take but a moment.” Izuku looks at him, but really, he’s processing the way Mirko scowls, her brows furrowing with worry and frustration. He swallows, because something in his chest tells him that this isn’t something he wants happening.

“S-Sure,” he says, voice cracking slightly. “Um, right now?” 

Tsukauchi nods. “It’s best to get this over with,” he answers, then steps toward Izuku, offering him a hand. “Come. There’s a room just down the hall we’ve gotten permission to use.” 

Izuku nods, taking his hand and letting the detective help him to his feet, but he can’t say he feels all that reassured by the man’s soft smile or soothing voice. It certainly doesn’t help that Mirko is still frowning as she trails after them, arms folded over her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: vomiting, self harm, hospitals
> 
> thank you as always for the support and the comments!!!! i apologize again for the dumb mistake with la brava, i am really very embarrassed about the whole thing. hopefully the chapter was good enough to make up for it!!
> 
> discord: https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt


	30. post internships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku got mirko and todoroki to help him fight stain and fangirl! he got hit by fangirl's quirk and nabbed by a noumu for a hot second but it's okay. now he's in the hospital recovering, but detective tsukauchi wants to talk to him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys!! i feel like this one kinda sucks ngl so apologies in advance. i've been supppppper busy today so haven't had as much time to write as i like.

When Izuku sits down in the plush armchair, facing Tsukauchi where he sits across a coffee table in a matching chair, both of them with steaming cups of hot cocoa in front of them, it’s not exactly what Izuku had expected an interrogation to look like.  _ Because that’s what this is, isn’t it? I know things I shouldn’t and they need to know why _ . Izuku doesn’t think he’s a fan of the concept. Tsukauchi looks up at Mirko, who’s hovering by the closed door, still standing.

“We’re good here, now,” he says, giving her a polite smile. “I’ll let you know when we’re finished.” Mirko narrows her eyes at him, scowling.

“Like hell I’m leaving him alone in here with you,” she says, folding her arms over her chest and leaning against the wall beside the door. There’s a window there, but the blinds are down. “The kid just survived two fucking villains and got his ribs fuckin’ crushed. He shouldn’t have to sit for a goddamn interrogation the day of.”

Tsukauchi’s smile drops. “It really is better to get it over with while his memory is still fresh,” he says, his eyes darting over to Izuku for a moment. Izuku tries to smile at him but it turns into more of a grimace.

“I-I’d be okay with Mirko staying,” he says, fidgeting with his hands in front of him. The IV he’s still hooked up to drips rhythmically beside him. “If that’s okay.”

“It is if you consent to it,” Tsukauchi says, pulling out a notebook from a bag beside him. “I’m okay with it. This is really just to clear some things up, so it should go fairly quickly,” he says, smiling again as he clicks his pen open and opens the notebook to a blank page.

“Right,” Izuku replies, not believing him in the slightest. Tsukauchi rests his pen above the page of his notebook.

“Now, I’m going to tell you right out of the gate what my quirk does,” he says, meeting Izuku’s gaze. “I’m able to tell if someone is telling the truth or not. It’s an ability that cannot be turned off, and thus I will be using it in our conversation. It’s in your best interest to tell the truth, anyway, but I prefer not to use it without people understanding what they are walking into.” Izuku swallows, because that just made the situation a lot more dire. He tries not to let his nerves show on his face though, instead tipping his head slightly to the side and widening his eyes.

“Whoa, that’s amazing!” he says, honestly. “How does it work when the person you’re asking thinks something is true, but it isn’t? Does it seem true because they think it does? Or does it show up as a lie because it’s wrong?” It’s not hard for Izuku to start thinking about the quirk, really, not when it’s genuinely such an interesting one. “Does it show up as a lie when people say stuff like ‘nice to meet you’ but they're just being polite? Oh, what if something is an opinion, so it’s neither true nor false?”

Tsukauchi blinks, then chuckles. “I detect truth versus lies, not correct versus incorrect, so it’s based on what the person I’m asking thinks is true,” he replies, smiling. “As for things people say to be polite, sometimes it will show up as a lie, yes, but generally I don’t take offense to it. Opinions show up as true if the person is being honest about their opinion and false if they aren’t. I can tell you more about my quirk after we talk, if you’d like,” he says, and Izuku nods, recognizing that Tsukauchi probably won’t want to give away information that Izuku could use to work through his questions. Good thing for Izuku that, if needed, he can have this conversation more than once.

“Okay,” he answers, reaching a hand up to slide under some of the gauze on his arm and scratch at an itchy spot underneath. “What do you want to ask me about?”

“First, I’m just going to ask some routine questions. I ask these of everyone I interview.” Tsukauchi writes something in his notebook, and Izuku can see that it’s just the date. “What’s your name?”

“Izuku Midoriya,” Izuku replies, watching Tsukauchi copy it down into the notebook. Between his handwriting being messy and the notebook being upside down, Izuku doesn’t think he’ll be able to read anything that isn’t his name when the detective makes notes later on, which sucks. 

“What quirk do you have?” Tsukauchi asks, still writing. Izuku swallows.

“I’m registered quirkless, sir,” he says, which must be true enough for the detective’s quirk, because he just nods. 

“You’re registered that way, but are you actually quirkless?” he smiles sympathetically when Izuku must make a face. “I know it’s a sensitive topic, but I have to ask.” Izuku nods, but he’s not offended about the question. He’s about to take a gamble.

“I am,” he says. “I’m quirkless.” He waits, praying that it’ll work, but Tsukauchi just nods and scribbles more on his paper. Izuku breathes a sigh of relief.  _ Even if I have a quirk, I’m still quirkless, legally and functionally. I was raised as a quirkless person. It’s a loophole for sure, but I  _ am  _ quirkless. I’m a quirkless person who just so happens to have a quirk. Not even having a quirk can change that part of me, can change the fact that I’m... _ Izuku cuts off that line of thinking, because he can feel the way his chest seizes up when he thinks about it, when he considers his uselessness. Probably a bad idea to have a mental breakdown in front of a police detective.

“Okay,” Tsukauchi says. “Next, I’m going to ask you some questions regarding your knowledge of and possible ties to a couple of different groups. You may not have heard of all of them, and that’s okay. I also want to emphasize that if you are being coerced by any of these people, we can guarantee your safety, okay?” Izuku can feel Mirko’s gaze on him from the other side of the room. 

“O-Okay,” Izuku replies. 

“What is your relationship with the League of Villains?” Tsukauchi asks, pen moving across the paper already. 

“They attacked us at USJ,” Izuku says. “Um. I don’t like them very much. I’m not working with them, if that’s what you’re asking.” He fidgets with the gauze on his right wrist, over where he’d cut himself and broken Fangirl’s quirk. 

“That’s about what I expected,” Tsukauchi says with that same small smile. “Have you seen them since the attack on USJ?” 

“No,” Izuku says. He hadn’t  _ seen _ any of them. Heard them, sure. But he doesn’t remember having seen any of them, not even during that meeting he listened in on.

“Do you know what the term Gekkeiju refers to?” Tsukauchi asks, crossing one of his legs over the other. Izuku hums, thinking.

“It means a laurel tree, right?” Izuku watches Tsukauchi nod.

“It does,” he says. “Are you familiar with any other meaning of the word?”

“Yes,” Izuku says, because he is. Tsukauchi doesn’t seem surprised, but Izuku honestly can’t remember what exactly he’d let slip on the run through that became permanent, so he lets Tsukauchi ask him another question.

“What do you know about the group that calls themselves the Gekkeiju?” He asks, eyes on his notebook page and not Izuku’s face. Izuku glances over at Mirko, who’s watching him opening. She’s hard to read, for once.

“They’re some sort of villain group. Or criminal. I don’t know the details.” Izuku shrugs. “Fangirl is in the group.”

Tsukauchi nods. “That’s correct. Are you working with the Gekkeiju or any of its members?” He looks up at Izuku.

“No,” Izuku says. “I’m not. I’m not working with any villains or criminal organizations.” Tsukauchi nods, and Izuku wonders if he’s imagining the way he relaxes slightly. 

“Are you leaking information about UA, UA’s students or faculty, or pro heroes in general to the Gekkeiju, the League of Villains, Stain, or any of their allies?” 

“No,” Izuku replies, voice firm. It’s easy to answer the ones like this. Izuku isn’t a traitor.

“Good,” Tsukauchi says, flipping to the next page in his notebook. “At this point I’m fairly confident that you aren’t doing anything illegal, so the next couple of questions will be to clarify why you had some of what was considered classified information regarding what happened yesterday. Are you okay to keep going?” His eyes flick up at the IV bag. “We can take a break if you’d like.”

“I want to get it over with,” Izuku says, using Tsukauchi’s words from earlier. The detective nods, seemingly pleased.

“I think that’s for the best,” he says, smiling. “First off, I’m going to ask you if you said certain things. It’s okay if you did, you’re not necessarily in trouble. If you don’t remember, that’s okay, too. You’ve had a rough day.” Mirko snorts from where she’s still leaning on the wall, but she doesn’t say anything.

“Okay,” Izuku says, nodding. Tsukauchi nods in return.

“Did you know there was an attack underway prior to the Noumu impacting the train?” Tsukauchi is writing, again.

“Yeah,” Izuku says. “That’s why Mirko and I went to Hosu in the first place.” Tsukauchi glances up at him.

“I mean, did you know that the attack was underway  _ right then _ , before the Noumu crashed into the train?” His face is unreadable. Izuku thinks he probably got training to be so good at that.

“I didn’t know until I knew the Noumu was going to crash into the train,” Izuku says, because he didn’t. Tsukauchi doesn’t need to know it crashed into the train three times for Izuku. Tsukauchi’s brows furrow slightly, and he writes something down.

“Okay. Did you know Iida was being attacked and by who prior to arriving at the scene?” Tsukauchi glances up at Izuku, picking his notebook up and leaning it against his knee, where his legs are crossed. 

“I did,” Izuku confirms. He starts to fidget with the tape that holds the IV still where it goes into his arm, then thinks better of it.

“Did you know the villains Stain and Fangirl’s quirks prior to encountering them in battle?” Tsukauchi asks. Izuku resists the urge to grimace, because he  _ didn’t  _ know until he’d fought them the first two times, but Tsukauchi obviously knows he’d told Mirko and Todoroki before then. 

“I knew when I called Todoroki,” Izuku answers, hoping Tsukauchi doesn’t call him out on the loophole. 

Tsukauchi nods. “Did you know Todoroki was in the area when you called him?” Izuku nods, and the detective smiles slightly. “Verbal response, please.”

“R-Right,” Izuku says. “I did.” 

Tsukauchi sighs, setting his pen down and looking up at Izuku. “You understand why we’re concerned now,” he says, his face looking apologetic. “You have not only classified information, but information that should be impossible for you to have obtained.” 

Izuku swallows. “Right,” he says, voice barely a murmur.  _ It’s clearly not impossible, _ he thinks, sullenly.

“First, let’s start with the classified stuff.” Tsukauchi picks up his pen again. “How did you learn that Hosu City was being attacked?”

Izuku blinks. “That was classified? Mirko told me when we left for the train,” he says, and Tsukauchi nods.

“That part isn’t classified. How did you know that Stain and Fangirl were at the scene?” Tsukauchi holds his pen over the paper, watching Izuku.

“I overheard it,” Izuku answers, and he really, really hopes this works out well, because he doesn’t want to try to kill himself in a hospital, of all places.

“Who did you overhear?” Tsukauchi asks, and this is the kicker. Izuku knows he’s asking about who he heard say that Manami and Stain would be there, which would have been Leadfoot and the League, but Izuku doesn’t want to say that. Izuku did, however,  _ technically _ overhear someone else that night. 

“I heard Eraserhead and someone else,” he says, and it’s true, even though it isn’t actually the answer to Tsukauchi’s question. Tsukauchi blinks, then starts scribbling down words faster. Izuku wonders if the ink is smearing.

“Who was Eraserhead talking to?” Tsukauchi asks. Izuku swallows.

“He was about my age,” Izuku says. “Wearing red and black. His hair was pulled back, black as well. He looked like he might be an underground hero.” 

Tsukauchi nods. “Okay. I’ll need to verify that with Aizawa, but you haven’t lied to me thus far.” He gives Izuku a slight smile. “Let’s talk about some of the things that confuse me. How did you know that the two villains were at that specific location?”

“The boy who spoke with Eraserhead knew,” Izuku answers. Tsukauchi hums in acknowledgement, writing.

“How did you know Todoroki was in the area?” Tsukauchi glance sup at him, briefly.

“He’d responded to a text of mine,” Izuku says, and it’s true because in the second time through, Todoroki  _ had _ responded by showing up to fight Stain and Fangirl.

“Okay,” Tsukauchi’s pen is kind of loud, now that Izuku thinks about it. “How did you know the quirks of the two villains?” 

Izuku shrugs. “Lucky guess?” he responds, and Mirko snorts. When he glances over at her, she’s rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, right,” she says. Tsukauchi sighs.

“He’s telling the truth, actually,” Tsukauchi says, and Mirko raises an eyebrow.

“It was!” Izuku says, smiling sheepishly at her. He had guessed, technically. The villains didn’t explain their quirks. He’d had to guess at the details, based on the information he had from the other two fights. It’s still a guess, though. Technically. 

“One hell of a fucking guess,” Mirko grumbles, folding her arms over her chest. Izuku looks back to Tsukauchi.

“Midoriya, I have to ask. Do you have a quirk?” Tsukauchi looks up at him. Izuku frowns.

“I already answered that question,” he says. Tsukauchi doesn’t blink.

“You already said you’re quirkless,” he says. “But I want to confirm a theory of mine. Do you have a quirk?”

“Probably,” Izuku says. “Most quirkless people without the extra toe joint do, it’s just not something that ever becomes noticeable.” Tsukauchi nods, unfazed. 

“Do you have a quirk that’s become noticeable, Midoriya?” He’s staring Izuku down, pen pressed to the paper. Izuku meets his eyes.

“No, I don’t,” he answers, voice steady. It’s  _ not _ noticeable, not in the sense of it being  _ able _ to be  _ noticed _ . Anytime someone would notice, he has the choice to undo it, to reset to before they do. Izuku is telling the truth. He thinks.

Tsukauchi blinks. “Right,” he says, biting his lip. “In that case, I’m sorry to pester you about it. It’s probably not a topic you like talking about,” he says, and Izuku just shrugs.

“There’s worse ones,” he says, which is true enough. Tsukauchi nods, writes something down.

“I have two last questions, and then we’re done with the official interview part of this,” Tsukauchi smiles at him. “Are you in danger?”

Izuku blinks. “I don’t think so,” he says. He can't die, so danger isn’t really... it doesn’t apply to him. 

Tsukauchi nods. “Okay. Is there anything you’re hiding from me?” Izuku squints at him.

“With all due respect, I’m fifteen, sir.” He hears Mirko laugh out loud at his words. “I’m hiding lots of stuff, but I’m not working with villains and I’m not doing anything that will hurt anyone else.” The opposite, in fact, but Tsukauchi doesn’t need to know that.

Tsukauchi laughs lightly, shaking his head. “Fair enough.” He glances up at Izuku, smiling. “That’s it for the official stuff, like I said. I do have a couple of questions, just some stuff that Mirko and I are concerned about.” Izuku blinks, glancing over to Mirko. He watches her face drop into a worried frown. 

“At the end of the battle, you turned a knife on yourself,” Tsukauchi says, and Izuku turns back to look at him. “Can you explain that to me?”

“I-I wasn’t trying to hurt myself,” Izuku says, shaking his head. “I just wanted to break out of Fangirl’s quirk.” Tsukauchi’s face twitches, his pen freezing over the paper.

“Midoriya,” he says slowly. “That’s the first lie you’ve told this whole time.” Izuku freezes, staring at him. He can feel Mirko’s gaze burning a hole in his back. 

“I--” Izuku swallows. “Her quirk, it amplifies emotions,” he takes a breath, shaky, “I wouldn’t have done that if I wasn’t under the effects of it, I-I swear.” He wouldn’t have, not where people could  _ see _ .

Tsukauchi nods. “That’s true,” he says, glancing up to where Mirko is, then back at Izuku. “Do you ever hurt yourself or want to hurt yourself, outside of being under the effects of Fangirl’s quirk?” 

Izuku bites his lip. “I’m training to be a hero,” he says, aware that he’s shaking, slightly. “Getting hurt is kind of in the job description.” He can feel the cuts on his arms, under the bandages. The ones he’d inflicted on himself.

“That’s not what I’m asking,” Tsukauchi says, voice gentle. “Do you intentionally inflict harm on yourself or desire to do so?” Izuku stares into his eyes.

“I-I’ve thought about it,” he says, voice breaking. He watches Tsukauchi sigh, reaching out a hand to rest on Izuku’s knee, the motion slow and gentle. Izuku hopes the man doesn’t ask if he’s acted on those thoughts. He hopes the man doesn’t ask if Izuku plans to act on them soon.

“Midoriya,” he says, quietly. “I’m sorry that you are going through this, and I appreciate you being honest with me.” He pulls away from Izuku, leaning back. “I don’t have the authority to do much, in this case,” he says, his eyes moving to where Mirko is standing. “I trust that Mirko will handle this appropriately, but...” he reaches into his suit pocket, pulling out a white card. “If you ever want to talk to someone, I would be happy to listen,” he says, passing Izuk his business card. Izuku stares at it.

“Are you going to tell Aizawa-sensei?” He asks, not looking at Mirko. His vision is getting blurry with tears that form without his permission. 

“Yeah, kid,” Mirko says, and Izuku can hear her footsteps as she walks over to crouch beside him. “You’re not gonna get in trouble though, okay? We just want to make sure you’re alright.” He glances over to her, and he’s surprised to see that her red eyes are slightly watery, too. She puts a hand on his shoulder, giving him a faint smile.

“Okay,” Izuku whispers, even though it doesn’t feel okay. “When are you going to tell him?”

“When I deliver the internship reports,” she answers, squeezing his shoulder. “You did good, by the way. I don’t think many UA students take down world class criminals on their first internship.” 

“Sensei is going to be really mad at me,” Izuku mumbles, hating the way his chest is tight and his eyes burn. 

“He won’t be,” Mirko says, then glances to the side, at Tsukauchi. “If he’s mad, it won’t be at you. Right, Tsukauchi?” Izuku turns to see Tsukauchi nod.

“She’s telling the truth,” he says, giving Izuku a warm smile. “You’ll be okay, kid.”

Izuku nods, even though he doesn't really believe them.

\--

When Izuku returns to the shared hospital room, tugging his IV stand with him, he’s surprised to walk in and find his friends looking at him, dark expressions on their faces. Izuku swallows, his throat still thick and wet from crying. Mirko taps him gently on the shoulder.

“Are you gonna be alright if I go?” she asks softly, quiet enough that Todoroki and Iida probably can’t hear. Izuku nods.

“I’ll be okay,” he answers, and steps into the room as Mirko pulls back. He hears the door shutting behind her as he walks in, shuffling over to his hospital bed.

“What happened?” He asks, looking up at his friends. Iida shifts, one hand reaching up to grab his shoulder.

“Iida just got his medical report,” Todoroki says. Izuku blinks, glancing between them.

“There may be permanent damage to my left arm,” Iida says, resting his hand over the cast. “They can’t know for sure until the cast is off, but they suspect my mobility will be limited and that the strength in my arm won’t fully return.” He clenches his jaw, and Izuku can see the way the muscles in his temples swell with the motion.

“I’m so sorry, Iida,” Izuku breathes, and he feels guilty, so guilty, for not resetting again, for not going back until none of his friends were injured.  _ Nobody should be injured except for me _ . 

“It’s alright,” Iida says, looking up at him and smiling slightly. “It’s... entirely my own fault. It happened because I strayed from the path of a hero.” He sighs, looking down at the floor. “I’m going to live with it, as a reminder to stay true to myself.”

“Iida...” Izuku says, too choked up to say anything else. He watches Todorokri look over at him, watches Iida take a few deep breaths before seeming to collect himself. 

“What about you, Midoriya?” Todoroki asks, shifting to lean towards him. “How did your meeting with the detective go?”

“Uh,” Izuku squeaks. “Not great,” he says, voice cracking slightly. “Could have been worse.” Todoroki tips his head to the side slightly.

“Did they find out that you can see the future?” he asks, voice completely deadpan. Izuku blinks.

“W-What?!” He laughs, a nervous chuckle that bubbles out of his chest. “No, Todoroki, t-that’s not it.” He feels heat rising on his face. 

“So it’s something, then,” Todoroki replies.

“What?” Izuku shakes his head. “No, there’s nothing!”

“You said ‘that’s not it,’ so it’s something else, right?” Todoroki nods thoughtfully. “You can deny it all you want, but I know you can see the future. Iida didn’t text you, so you didn’t get the information from him.”

Izuku blinks. “Y-You remember that...?” Todoroki blinks.

“Of course,” a slight smile crawls up Todoroki’s lips. “I wouldn’t forget it.”

Izuku laughs nervously. “Of course,” he repeats. He glances over at Iida, and when he sees the amused smile on his friend’s face, he thinks it might be okay that Todoroki suspects him.

\--

When classes start up again after the internship, Izuku isn’t sure what he expects to happen. He doesn’t know exactly what Mirko told Aizawa, but judging by the way Aizawa immediately stares at Izuku upon walking into homeroom, it’s probably not great.

“Midoriya,” Aizawa says, voice not betraying any emotion. “Stay back after class. I want to talk with you about something.” He watches Izuku as Izuku gives a hesitant nod, turning to the board and writing something about the conclusion of the internships. Izuku can't really listen, though, because his hands are shaking and his heart is beating too fast for him to pay attention. He wishes Mirko had given him more detail, but when he’d texted her and asked, she’d just reassured him that he wouldn’t get in trouble. 

It was a nice sentiment, sure, but Izuku doesn’t think Mirko knows him all that well. Aizawa isn’t forgiving of things like this. Izuku’s heard Aizawa say it himself, and even if he hadn’t, he’s heard it on the grapevine from upperclassmen. If there’s one thing Aizawa doesn’t tolerate, it’s self sacrifice and risky behavior. Izuku is pretty sure that the police and the number seven hero finding out he’s thought about hurting himself more than counts. 

So, Izuku gets through the homeroom period by doodling like Tsukauchis and Mirkos in his notebook. They’re not  _ great _ sketches, per say, but they distract him enough that he doesn’t think he’s going to have a panic attack, so that’s good enough. Izuku knows that Todoroki notices what he’s doing, but Izuku ignores his friend’s obvious staring. He’ll talk to him after he’s done freaking out about the Aizawa thing. If he doesn’t get expelled, that is. 

It’s over too quickly, though, and Izuku doesn’t fully register the ringing of the bell until his friends are all standing up, slinging backpacks over their shoulders and walking out of the room. Izuku swallows nervously, packing up his own notes. His fingers feel like they belong to someone else as he slides his notebook into his backpack. Uraraka gives him a sympathetic glance.

“See you later, Deku,” she says, waving and smiling. Izuku waves back, but his attempt at a smile comes out more as a grimace. She and Tsuyu walk out of the classroom together, leaving Izuku alone in the room with Aizawa. His teacher is standing behind his desk, but when Uraraka and Tsuyu are out of the doorway, he stands up and slides the door shut, sighing as he turns back to look at Izuku.

“Midoriya,” he says, walking over to where he’s sitting. “I’ll write you a pass for your next class, so don’t worry about being late.” He sits in the set next to Izuku’s and Izuku almost wants to laugh because that’s not what he’s worried about.

“O-Okay,” he says, voice shaky. Aizawa meets his gaze.

“I’m sure you already know what this is about,” he drawls. “I’m not going to beat around the bush. In her report about your internship, Mirko had almost exclusively praise for your performance,” he says, not breaking eye contact. Izuku feels like his eyes are frozen in place. “However, she expressed some concern about you as well.”

Izuku swallows. His throat feels tight, and he’s grateful when Aizawa keeps talking, because he knows he wouldn’t be able to say anything without crying right now. 

“She informed me that you’d been training at night, even after a long day, and that you’d skipped breakfast.” He scratches at the scar under his eye, and Izuku wonders if he’s doing it subconsciously. “She also let me know that you’ve apparently considered hurting yourself in the past. Is that true?”

Izuku nods, his head bobbing up and down shakily. Aizawa doesn’t seem bothered, but he does sigh, low and slow.

“Midoriya. I need you to understand that taking care of yourself is  _ incredibly _ important if you’re going to be a hero. This includes both physical aspects such as sleeping enough and eating enough, but it also includes mental health.” Izuku looks away from him, and Aizawa sighs. “Midoriya--”

“I-I’m sorry,” Izuku mumbles, voice damp. “It won’t happen again,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut to keep the tears from falling out. “Please don’t expel me.” Izuku waits, tensed in the chair like that, for a few moments. It feels like an eternity, but Izuku hears rustling of fabric and an exhale, closer to him than before. He feels Aizawa’s hand on his shoulder.

“I’m not expelling you,” Aizawa says. Izuku opens his eyes, sees his teacher crouching in front of him, face serious. “I’m going to ask you to take better care of yourself, but you are not in trouble. Do you understand?” 

“I-I’m not in trouble,” Izuku repeats, inhaling sharply through his nose to suck up the snot that’s threatening to run out.

“You’re not in trouble,” Aizawa repeats, squeezing his shoulder. “Consider this part of your training. I want you to make an effort to sleep at  _ least _ six hours every night. More if possible. And you need to eat three meals a day, even if you’re busy.” He pauses for a moment, and Izuku nods. “Also, I’d like you to consider talking to someone. It doesn’t have to be me, but any of the teachers here would be glad to, and Hound Dog is our guidance counselor. I can help arrange a meeting with him, or even Recovery Girl if you’re more comfortable with that.”

Izuku nods. “I-I’ll think about it,” he says, even though he has no intention of telling anybody about this. Nobody needs to know. Nobody will understand--it’s part of his quirk, probably. It’s part of his secret. Izuku can’t tell them about it.  _ They won’t get it. Not without the context. I’m not  _ hurting _ myself; I’m just... training. Training for resets. _

“Good,” Aizawa says. “You can talk to me at any time, about anything, as well. You won’t get in trouble for talking to me about your mental health,” he says, giving Izuku’s shoulder a squeeze as he stands up from the crouched position, pulling his hand off of Izuku and shoving it in his pocket. “Understood?”

Izuku nods, still shaky. “Understood,” he repeats back and Aizawa gives him the faintest hint of a smile. 

“You can go to English, now,” Aizawa says, passing Izuku a piece of paper from his pocket. “Mic will let you in with this.” Izuku takes the piece of paper and nods, staring at it.

He feels kind of guilty as he walks out of the classroom, but he knows he doesn’t have a choice. He can’t let anyone know any more that they already do about the situation.  _ If people find out about this quirk _ , he thinks,  _ I’ll be in danger. My friends will be in danger, too, because I won’t have the same element of surprise. Civilians will be in danger.  _

Izuku can die as many times as it takes if it spares others from pain. He can dig his knife into his arm as many times as it takes for him to be okay. He can lie to as many people as it takes to keep this a secret. He’ll survive, after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: hospitals, self harm mentions
> 
> i hope you enjoyed!!! sorry if it was lower quality than usual, and i look forward to reading the comments and stuff!!
> 
> discord: https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt


	31. training montage, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku gets interrogated!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiiiiii gamers!!!! i didn't know what to call this arc because it's not in canon so :') but anyway enjoy!
> 
> also a note! in future chapters, i will no longer be tagging for reference to self harm or for mentions of self harm wounds/injuries. i will still tag explicit self harm scenes. self harm will be referenced in most if not all future chapters, and wounds will also likely be mentioned.
> 
> (eye of the tiger starts playing)

It takes an entire week after they return to class for Aizawa to agree that Izuku is well enough to start training again. It’s annoying, but Izuku thinks he understands why Aizawa is so insistent on it. The dark bruises on his neck have only just completely faded at his last session with Recovery Girl, and he’s got a shiny scar where he was stabbed in the side. His ribs, somehow, don’t show evidence of the damage at all, but Izuku supposes the scars from that are probably internal. 

He’s waiting for Aizawa at an outdoor sparring area, and it’s a sunny day. It’s almost the end of May, now, and it’s warm enough that Izuku’s uncomfortable in his long sleeved sports uniform, but he’s not about to take it off. Even if his cuts are healed over right now, sealed up as a side effect of multiple healing sessions and his arms being bandaged all of the time anyway, there are still silvery white scars just barely visible above and below his elbows. With Aizawa on guard--and he is on guard--he’s bound to notice. 

Aizawa steps into the area wearing his usual heavy, black outfit, and Izuku can’t help but wonder how on earth the man isn’t miserable under all of those layers. His teacher looks the normal amount of tired as he walks up to Izuku.

“Midoriya,” he says, greeting Izuku with a dip of the head. “How’d you sleep this weekend?” His gaze is searching as it looks over Izuku’s face.

“I slept well,” Izuku says, sighing. “And yes, it was at least six hours a night.” Aizawa’s been asking Izuku how he’s slept and if he’s eaten nearly every day since he came back from his internships, and frankly, it’s starting to get on Izuku’s nerves.

“Have you had lunch?” Aizawa asks next. Izuku resists the urge to roll his eyes, but it’s very, very difficult.

“Yes. And breakfast. And some pocky during afternoon classes,” he replies, kicking his shoes at the grass under his feet. Aizawa grunts in acknowledgement. 

“Good. Have you given any thought to what I said about talking to someone?” Aizawa asks. Izuku can feel his teacher’s eyes on him, but he looks at the ground, shrugging.

“I’ve thought about it,” he says, watching a particularly long blade of grass twitch in the wind.

“And?” Aizawa prompts. Izuku shrugs again.

“I don’t think it’s um. Necessary.” He nudges the piece of grass with his foot. It shifts easily. He hears Aizawa sigh.

“If I saw your arms right now, would I agree with you?” Aizawa counters, and Izuku looks up at him, startled. Aizawa stares at him with half lidded eyes. “I’m not stupid, you know. I’ve been teaching high school for eight years now.” His gaze drops to Izuku’s sleeves. “You’ve never taken off your school blazer or worn the short sleeved sports uniform, even when it’s warm out.”

“You’re wearing long sleeves, too,” Izuku says, tipping his head slightly to the side. “What about you, then?”

Aizawa stares down at him, face impassive. “We can both show our arms, if you want,” he drawls. Izuku raises an eyebrow at him.

“I fight people with quirks that make fire, acid, and electricity, along with literal nitroglycerin. Isn’t it ‘logical,’” Izuku makes air quotes as he speaks, “to wear more clothing? It’s more protection.” Aizawa raises an eyebrow, then shrugs. 

“Fair enough. I’d still like you to speak to someone.” He slides his hands into his pockets. “I’m assuming you’ve at least considered _who_ you’d want to speak with.”

Izuku frowns. “This... isn’t optional, is it?” It’s kind of a stupid question, but Izuku has to ask anyway.

“It’s not,” Aizawa confirms, nodding.

Izuku sighs, looking at his teacher’s neck instead of his face. “I’d, um, I’d like to talk to you, then. I guess.” He watches the way the fabric of Aizawa’s capture weapon shifts as his chest rises and falls with each breath. “Can we do it during training? It’s not like I have a lot of free time between classes, training with you, and training with All Might.” 

“We can,” Aizawa confirms. “Your mental health should be higher on your priority list, though.” 

Izuku gives him a half-smile. “Right,” he says, and when he looks up at Aizawa’s face again he can tell he isn’t buying it. “Well, what are we working on today? Training-wise, that is.” Aizawa gives him a searching look.

“We’ll work on stealth,” Aizawa says, after a moment. “And we’ll talk about why you think taking care of yourself is optional.” 

Izuku grimaces. “Right,” he says. “We’re starting that today then, aren’t we.” It’s not a question, really, and Aizawa snorts, rolling his eyes. 

“Yeah, problem child, we are. You’re going to track me through this forest,” he gestures to the wooded area to their left, “and every time I hear or see you, you’re going to have to answer a question. Deal?”

“Do I have to answer truthfully?” Izuku responds, giving Aizawa his best shit eating grin. His teacher sighs, tipping his head back to look at the sky.

“He’s trying to give me grey hair. It’s on purpose, there’s no other way,” he murmurs, and Izuku can’t help but snicker at it. Aizawa looks back at Izuku. “Yes, you have to answer truthfully. If you don’t want to answer a question, tell me that, and I’ll give you another one. I’d rather get no answer at all than an answer that isn’t true.”

“Interrogation round two,” Izuku says, nodding. “Got it.” Aizawa just stares at him.

“It’s not going to be much of an interrogation if you remember what you were supposed to learn in heroics on Thursday,” Aizawa drawls. “Keep quiet and out of sight and maybe I won’t get to ask you anything at all.” 

\--

The first time he catches Izuku, it’s embarrassingly early. They’ve only been walking in the woods for about ten minutes when Izuku trips on a root that sticks out above the ground. The loose leaves covering the soil had concealed it, and Izuku catches himself before he falls, but not before he lets out a little gasp and Aizawa turns to stare directly at him.

“That was fast,” Aizawa drawls, but he doesn’t sound surprised in the slightest. “You need to watch where you’re walking. In all environments, but especially in natural ones. There are more hazards than you’re likely used to from training in artificial settings.” Izuku nods, biting his lip.

“Um, I’ll work on it!” he chirps, and AIzawa nods, sliding his hands into his pocket. “What’s, um. What’s your question?” He knows Aizawa remembers their deal; after all, it’s only been a few minutes. 

“Have you heard of square breathing?” Aizawa asks, and Izuku blinks. His teacher seems to take that as a no. “It’s a breathing technique. It’s useful for a number of things, like calming someone down when they’re panicking.” Izuku frowns.

“I’m not panicking,” he says, and Aizawa nods, seemingly expecting that.

“Not right now. But what if you’re caught in a quirk that makes you panic again?” Aizawa meets his gaze. “What if one of your friends is, and you’re the one who calms them down? It’s a useful skill for any hero. They teach it in the second year first aid course, but I think it’s illogical to wait that long.” 

“What is it?” Izuku asks, seeing where this is going. “Are you about to show it to me?”

Aizawa nods. “It’s simple. You breathe in for four seconds, hold for four, and breathe out for four. Then repeat.” He demonstrates, his breath loud and exaggerated, probably so Izuku can hear. “If you’re helping someone else, it’s useful to do it along with them, so they can mimic your motions. Give it a shot.”

Izuku narrows his eyes. “This isn’t really a question,” he says, and Aizawa arches an eyebrow at him.

“Would you rather I asked you an invasive question you didn’t feel comfortable answering?” Izuku blinks, and Aizawa smirks ever so slightly. “I thought not. I’m not interested in using my position as your teacher to force you to disclose information you’re not ready to share,” he says, his face turning serious. “I’d rather do something that’s actually helpful. It’s only logical.”

Izuku blinks, then nods. “R-Right,” he says. Aizawa tips his head slightly.

“Go ahead and demonstrate square breathing,” he says. “Do it quietly first, like you would if you needed to use it subtly, then like you would if you were helping a civilian. Let’s start with four cycles each way.” Izuku nods, biting at his lip. A coil of anxiety that he hadn't realized was there unwinds, and he does as Aizawa says.

\--

The rescue race goes by too fast. Izuku thinks that maybe, he should have tried harder. But it’s over in an instant, and Izuku placed third in his group of five. He’s sitting on a bench in the waiting area, now, and listening to his friends talk about it, talk about the bets they’d placed and how they’re going to win their own races, is somehow worse than doing poorly in the first place.

“I was so sure that Iida would win,” Uraraka says, sighing. “I should have known the ground being uneven would slow him down.”

“I’m surprised Midoriya did so well,” Ashido says, grinning and glancing over at Izuku. “No offense, man. I just don’t think anyone knew you have those crazy parkour skills.” Izuku shrugs, glancing over to where Todoroki is watching him. 

“I only got third,” he says, instead of really acknowledging what Ashido is saying. “I have a lot to work on.”

“I’m gonna have to train with you, dude,” Ashido says, shaking her head. “I can’t believe I got last! I thought for sure that I’d been doing better.” She groans, leaning back on the bench. Kaminari socks her in the arm, grinning.

“Yeah, those of us without quirks that let us move fast have got to stick together, right?” Kaminari looks up at Izuku and winks. “Sero and Bakugou aren’t gonna be any help, that’s for sure.” 

“I didn’t get first because of my fucking race,” Kacchan snarls from where he’s leaning against the wall a little ways away. “I beat my opponents because I’m the fucking best.” He glares at Izuku, for some reason, even as Kaminari starts whining, saying something about Kacchan basically being able to fly with his quirk. Izuku swallows. Kacchan looks away, growling and snapping at Kaminari, and somehow it’s worse. 

Izuku stands up from his place on the bench. “I’m going to go use the restroom,” he says, voice flat. Uraraka nods at him, and Iida gives him a thumbs up, but nobody else seems to notice. Izuku turns and walks out of the gym waiting area robotically. 

The thing is, Izuku is pretty sure if he reset now, he’d be able to try again. He’d be able to do the race over again, be able to do _better_ , but he isn’t sure he should. _Can I kill myself?_ he wonders. _Do I have time? Will there be anyone in the bathroom to stop me?_ He freezes in the hallway, pausing just a few paces from the door to the gym, because he hears footsteps behind him, quiet and rhythmic. He takes a deep breath.

“Midoriya?” Todoroki asks, and Izuku turns to look at him. His friend looks over his face. “Are you okay?”

“I-I’m okay,” Izuku replies, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides. “I’m okay.” Todoroki hums in acknowledgement, walking closer to Izuku, close enough that Izuku can feel his body heat radiating off of his left side, can feel the cold coming from his right. Izuku wonders if he’s always that way, or if it’s just from using his quirk during his group’s race.

“You’re shaking,” Todoroki says, his eyes on Izuku’s hands where they hang at his side. “Are you upset about placing third?” He meets Izuku’s gaze with two mismatched eyes, and Izuku nods, hesitantly.

“Y-Yeah,” he says, swallowing. “I just--I feel like I should have tried harder. Done better.” Todoroki nods.

“I placed second in my race,” he says, which Izuku already knows. “I feel similar to you about it.” His lips twitch, like he’s thinking about something. “Would you... nevermind, it’s stupid,” he says, looking away.

“It isn’t,” Izuku blurts out before he can stop himself. “What were you going to ask?” Todoroki looks back up at him, blinking. 

“I’ve read that friends... hug each other. When one of them is sad,” he says, and the way he implies that he’s not used to having friends, the way that he looks at Izuku with open trust in his eyes makes Izuku feel a pang of something in his chest. Izuku smiles softly at him.

“I’d like that,” he says, biting his lip. “If you’re okay with it, that is.”

“I wouldn’t have brought it up if I wasn’t,” Todoroki answers, and he’s reaching forward, pulling Izuku into a tentative hug. It’s awkward and neither of them seem to know what to do with their hands, but Izuku feels better for it.

\--

Aizawa is teaching Izuku to throw knives, next time they meet, asking Izuku a ‘question’ for every knife he throws that hits the board with anything but the blade. It’s lenient, really, because if he’d chosen to have it be every time the knife doesn’t stick into the board, Izuku would have asked a question for every knife he’s thrown. The one he just threw hit the board directly on the bottom of the hilt, smacking into the board hard enough that if Izuku had gotten the spins right, it would have surely stabbed into the board itself. Izuku hisses a breath of frustration, turning to his teacher with a sigh.

“You gave it too much spin,” Aizawa says, a hint of amusement in his voice. Izuku sighs, dramatically as he can.

“Yeah, I know,” he says, picking up another throwing knife from the basket of them, sliding off the safety sheath. He doesn’t throw it, though. After having answered so many of Aizawa’s questions, he knows his teacher hasn’t forgotten about them.

“Do you think having a mental illness makes a person weak?” Aizawa asks, and when Izuku glances at him, he’s got his arms folded over his chest. “Answer honestly,” he reminds Izuku with a look. “Don’t just tell me what I want to hear.”

Izuku knows it’s a loaded question. “I don’t know about _weak_ ,” he says, looking to the side. “But it’s not really... it doesn’t make a person weak, but it makes them weaker than they would be, otherwise.” Izuku doesn’t look up at Aizawa, hears him grunt in acknowledgement.

“Do you think pro heroes don’t struggle with their mental health?” he drawls, and Izuku swallows.

“That’s two questions,” he points out, glancing up to see Aizawa blink at him, slowly. 

“The second one was rhetorical,” he says. “Mental illness isn’t a weakness in the heroics industry. It’s an inevitability.” He takes a breath. “All pro heroes will deal with the effects of trauma and of working in a career where lives are at stake. It’s part of the nature of the job,” he says.

“Having a high stress job doesn’t mean you’re going to go crazy,” Izuku says back at him, and Aizawa arches a brow.

“Mental illness isn’t ‘going crazy,’ problem child.” He narrows his eyes. “Do you think I’m crazy?” Izuku blinks.

“W-What?” he asks, and Aizawa nods slowly, patiently. 

“Do you think Present Mic is crazy? Midnight?” He doesn't wait for Izuku to answer. “What about you? Do you think you’re crazy? Or weak?” Izuku stares back at him.

“T-The deal is one question,” Izuku murmurs. Aizawa nods, turning back to look at the board.

“It is,” he confirms. “Go ahead, then.” Izuku swallows, turning to the board and throwing the knife in his hand. The side of it thumps into the board. It’s worse than his earlier attempts, and he knows Aizawa can tell it’s because Izuku’s hands are shaking.

“I’ll ask this, then,” Aizawa says, his eyes tracking Izuku’s movements as Izuku gets the next knife ready. “What makes me different from you, if we both struggle with mental health, but you think you’re weak and I’m not?”

Izuku frowns. “I’m not mentally ill,” he says, and Aizawa doesn’t react. He just watches him. “Um. It’s d-different,” he says, weakly.

“Okay,” Aizawa replies. “Why is it different?”

Izuku shrugs, wrapping the arm that isn’t wielding a knife around his ribs, like he’s hugging himself. “Y-You’re managing it better,” he mumbles. “It’s not getting in your way.” Aizawa nods.

“Do you know how I stop it from impacting me?” Aizawa asks, tipping his head slightly. “I talk to people who I trust, _before_ it gets bad. I take care of myself. I take it seriously, instead of ignoring it.” Izuku stares back at him for a few seconds. Aizawa doesn’t blink.

“R-Right,” Izuku says, turning to throw the next knife.

\--

Izuku isn’t surprised, exactly, when Aizawa confronts him on patrol. He’s been wondering for the past two weeks when it would happen, and he’s more surprised that it’s taken this long. It’s warm, even for the beginning of June, and Izuku’s usually red hoodie is unzipped and the sleeves rolled up, showing the black long-sleeved undershirt he wears underneath. He’s crouched on a low rooftop when Eraserhead appears, walking up to the front of the building from the street and tipping his head back to look up at Izuku.

“Ace,” he greets, his goggles glinting gold in the moonlight. “I’ve been looking for you.” Izuku dangles his legs off of the edge of the roof, swinging them as he looks down. It’s only a one-story, so he could probably jump down without an issue, but he’s not sure that he should give up his height advantage.

“I know,” he says, kicking his heels back against the brick of the building. “Lovely weather we’re having. I’m thinking about getting a summer costume, soon. Do you think they make tank tops with hoods?” The nice thing about the mask is that it’s easier to put on a careless air, easier to play unconcerned, since Aizawa can’t exactly see his entire face. Izuku does his best to try and look confident, anyway, even though he’s nervous that this is where his cover is blown.

“I don’t want to make small talk with you,” Aizawa says, irritation audible in his voice. “I want you to tell me why the police are asking me about you.”

“Probably because you have a mysterious informant who’s giving you information about notorious criminal organizations?” Izuku replies. The way Aizawa is phrasing it makes Izuku wonder if he doesn’t know that Izuku “overheard” him and Ace talking. _That’d certainly be helpful_ , he thinks.

“They’re not asking about my informant,” Aizawa says. “They’re asking about who I met with the night before the Hosu incident. Where I met with him. If I noticed anybody else listening in.” 

“Oh,” Izuku replies. Aizawa snorts. 

“Yeah, _oh_ ,” he says, and Izuku is reminded of the time he ate lunch on the roof and Aizawa thought he was going to jump off. It’s a stark difference to now, when Izuku is on a roof only about fifteen feet above Aizawa, and his teacher looks ready to attack him if needed. Izuku hums, putting a hand to his chin like he’s thinking.

“I don’t think I saw anybody that night,” he murmurs, tipping his head slightly to the side. “Do you?”

“No,” Aizawa says. “Which is interesting, because if I recall correctly, there really wasn’t anywhere for someone to hide.” 

“There’s always somewhere to hide,” Izuku replies, shrugging. Aizawa grunts. 

“I’m only going to tell you this once,” Aizawa says, his voice low and dark. “Stay _away_ from my students. Don’t get them involved. Don’t put them in danger. If you cause one of them to come to harm’s way, I _will_ take you out.” 

Izuku smiles under his mask. “Oh, I know,” he replies easily. 

“What’s your name?” Aizawa asks. Izuku arches an eyebrow at him, making the gesture as obvious as possible.

“It’s Ace,” he says. “You literally called me that a few minutes ago.”

“Your real name,” Aizawa replies. “What is it?”

Izuku hums, kicking his legs against the brick again. The soft thumps echo out onto the street. “Do you think you’d recognize it if I told you?” he asks, voice quiet.

“Maybe,” Aizawa replies. Izuku tips his head back, looking up at the sky. The stars twinkle brightly in the navy blue, the sky empty of clouds.

“You first,” he says, not looking down at Aizawa. “I don’t know your civilian name, either,” he says. It’s a lie, of course. But it’s what Izuku would say if he _didn’t_ know Aizawa’s name, and as far as Aizawa knows, Ace doesn’t.

“I’m surprised your quirk hasn’t given you that,” Aizawa responds, and Izuku glances down to see the man staring at him thoughtfully. Izuku shrugs. 

“It only works when I’m in danger,” he says. “And you’re not really dangerous. Not to me, anyway.”

Aizawa grunts. “Right,” he says. “I will be, if you’re not careful.” It sounds like less of a threat and more of a warning. Izuku sighs. 

“I’m aware,” he says. “Anything else?”

Aizawa shakes his head, sighing. “You haven’t actually answered any of my questions,” he replies.

“That’s intentional,” Izuku chirps in response. He thinks he’s getting kind of good at this whole vigilante thing. There’s something to be said for practice. 

“Stop investigating the League,” Aizawa says. “And stay away from the Gekkeiju.”

“I won’t,” Izuku replies, and Aizawa sighs, deep and long suffering. Izuku watches him as he walks away, and even though Izuku knows it won’t be long before he puts two and two together, he hopes it at least takes long enough that Izuku gets some more information about the villains. Izuku doesn’t know what he’d do if people got hurt because he was found out too early.

\--

The first time Shinsou comes to training with him, it’s a sunny Thursday afternoon. Heroics had been shorter than normal, and even though Aizawa had asked if Izuku would be okay with training with Shinsou, it still sets his nerves on fire to be in the gym with him, fifteen minutes before Aizawa told them to meet. 

Izuku thinks it would be fine if Shinsou was talking. As it is, they’re both just standing on the gym mats, wearing matching sports uniforms, both with long sleeves. Izuku had said hello to Shinsou when he came in, just a few minutes after Izuku did, but Shinsou had just nodded and pulled out his phone. Izuku shifts his feet on the mat, moving back and forth nervously. He glances at Shinsou, who doesn’t seem to be paying him attention. Izuku looks at the floor, then back up at Shinsou.

“Um, how have your classes been?” Izuku asks, grateful that he doesn’t stutter. He watches Shinsou glance at him, his phone still held in front of him.

“They’re fine,” Shinsou replies, looking back at his phone. Izuku swallows.

“T-That’s great!” Izuku says, laughing nervously. “Do you like training with Aizawa-sensei?”

Shinsou shrugs. He doesn’t look over to Izuku. “I guess.” Izuku gets the message pretty clearly, and he shuts up, looking at the mat on the floor of the gym. He thinks about the sports festival. About what Shinsou had said to him. It’s not exactly a surprise that the guy doesn’t like Izuku, but some small part of Izuku had hoped that all of that stuff had just been to get him to respond, to get him under Shinsou’s quirk. _I guess not._

Izuku looks up when he hears the door to the gym open. Aizawa walks in, nodding to Izuku and Shinsou as he steps inside, one hand in his pocket and the other at his side. His long sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and Izuku finds his eyes catching on the pale, exposed skin there. He can’t see any scars, but he didn’t exactly expect to see any. He’s a little jealous that he can’t roll up his own sleeves, and maybe if he still just had silvery scars he’d roll them up a little, but with the fresh cuts just above his elbow, stinging and rubbed raw under his uniform, he knows better than to risk it.

“Take your shoes off and put your phones on the bench,” Aizawa says, sliding his own shoes off without looking at them. “You’re sparring.” He lifts his capture weapon off from around his neck, draping it over the bench. Izuku nods, walking over to the bench and toeing his shoes off. He hears Shinsou sigh from behind him.

“Is there a problem?” Aizawa asks, looking over Izuku’s head at Shinsou. Izuku takes a step to the side so he isn’t between them, looking back and forth as Shinsou glares at Aizawa.

“I’ve already found him, and lost,” Shinsou huffs, folding his arms over his chest. “Do you want to watch me get my ass beat?” Aizawa arches an eyebrow.

“Did I say you’d be fighting against him?” Aizawa asks, stepping toward Shinsou. Izuku swallows, inching out of their way and carefully setting his phone on the bench. He can feel the tension in the room like a thick syrup, and he’s not a fan of it. He pulls off his socks, setting them in his shoes, and straightens back up to watch.

“You’ll be teaming up to fight against me,” Aizawa says, eyes darting to the side to make sure Izuku is listening. “No quirks, no weapons,” he says, cracking his neck and walking toward the center of the mats. “And no biting.”

“No biting?” Shinsou says, his brows furrowing. He looks over at Izuku. “Do you really bite people so often he has to _say_ that?” Izuku feels his face flush red, and he looks down at the ground.

“I, um--Kind of? I don’t really, i-it’s more of a--” Izuku stutters out, but Shinsou cuts him off, rolling his eyes.

“Forget it. I don’t actually want to know.” He stalks past Izuku, into the center of the gym, where Aizawa is standing, hands on his hips waiting for them. Izuku bites his lip and follows, stopping a few feet away from Aizawa and getting into a fighting stance. Shinsou glances over at him, copying the motion. Aizawa nods.

“Ready?” he asks, stepping back and bending his knees slightly, fists raised. Izuku nods, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Shinsou doing the same. 

Izuku’s sparred against Aizawa enough that he knows that the way his teacher dips slightly before moving forward means that he’s starting off with a kick aimed at about stomach height. Izuku deflects it easily, moving to the outside of Aizawa’s leg and darting in, throwing a punch that Aizawa dodges away from without even blinking. Izuku sees Aizawa’s next move before he throws it, too, a punch towards Shinsou’s shoulder that Aizawa telegraphs obviously. It’s how Aizawa had sparred with him when he first started, and Izuku realizes now how much Aizawa had been upping the difficulty on their fights since then. 

Shinsou doesn’t have that experience, though. He tries to dodge out of the way of the punch by sliding back, but the motion is too slow and too late, and Aizawa’s punch taps him lightly on the shoulder. Shinsou frowns, raising his own knee up for a kick, but he drops his arms when he does, and Izuku winces as Aizawa uses the opening to elbow Shinsou in the chest. Shinsou falls back, landing on his ass.

“Fuck,” he swears, and Izuku grimaces, glancing over at Aizawa, who steps back and gives him a nod.

“Tell him what he did wrong,” Aizawa says to Izuku, and Izuku nods, swallowing. He takes a step toward Shinsou and offers a hand.

“You, um, d-dropped your hands,” he says, feeling his voice grow higher as Shinsou glares at him from the ground, not taking his hand. “When you kicked, I-I mean.”

Shinsou gets up on his own, swatting Izuku’s hand out of the way. “Yeah, I noticed that when he hit me,” he growls, and instinctively, Izuku dodges away from his hand as he waves Izuku off. Izuku hates the way he flinches back, the way he expects there to be an explosion from Shinsou’s palm, but he can’t stop himself. He knows Shinsou and Aizawa notice, too, because they’re both staring at him.

“Get ready,” Aizawa says, not acknowledging Izuku and Shinsou’s interaction. Izuku obeys the order, getting back into a fighting stance. Next to him, Shinsou does the same, a scowl on his face.

Aizawa opens with a sweep this time, aimed at Shinsou’s legs. Shinsou steps out of the way, just barely, and Aizawa uses the momentum from his sweep to pivot and swing a leg out at Izuku’s ribs. Izuku blocks it, wincing when the foot hits his forearm instead of the arm guards he’s grown used to, but he steps in anyway, throwing an elbow strike that Aizawa blocks. Izuku steps back, then, trying to get out of Aizawa’s punching range, but he stumbles when Shinsou throws a kick from too close, his thigh hitting Izuku in the side. Aizawa blocked the kick easily, sweeping Izuku’s feet out from under him. Izuku falls backwards, directly into Shinsou, who catches him under the armpits, swearing.

“Get off of me,” he hisses, shoving Izuku away from him. Izuku stumbles away, landing on his feet and gritting his teeth, turning to look at Shinsou.

“You know, this would work better if we worked together,” he snaps and Shinsou snorts out a huff of laugh, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, right,” he says. “I’m _dying_ to team up with you.” Izuku blinks, opening his mouth to say something, but Shinsou’s moving at Aizawa again, throwing a kick that Aizawa dodges before Shinsou has even finished throwing it. Izuku sighs, ducking into the fight to block a kick that Aizawa throws at Shinsou’s head.

“What does that mean?” Izuku says, not looking at Shinsou as he slides in to lob a punch at Aizawa’s stomach. Aizawa deflects it, but only barely, and he gives Izuku a nod.

“It means,” Shinsou says, throwing a kick that Aizawa blocks with a forearm, “that last time we teamed up, I fought you immediately after.” He hisses in frustration as one of Aizawa’s kicks smacks against his cheek, and Izuku winces in sympathy. “It should be clear by now that I don’t intend on making friends.”

“It’s not like we have to be friends to work together,” Izuku replies, barely side stepping out of the way of a backhand aimed at his face. “Did you mean it?”

“Mean _what?_ ” Shinsou growls, stumbling back as Aizawa knocks him off balance with a shove. 

“At the sports festival,” Izuku says, throwing a punch that he _knows_ is too messy. “You said that I took advantage of you. Do you really think that’s why I teamed up with you?”

“Why else?” Shinsou asks, glaring at him. “You used me to get into the tournament and then got lucky enough to get paired with me first round. Pretty fucking convenient.” Izuku blinks, frowning.

“I didn’t pair up with you to take advantage of you,” he says, voice louder and higher than he wants it to be. “I paired up with you because I think your quirk is amazing!” He’s distracted, enough so that Aizawa hit him in the gut with a kick. Izuku hisses out a breath, sliding out of Aizawa’s range. He looks back to see Shinsou, staring at him with a startled look on his face, and Aizawa throwing a kick at the other boy’s stomach. Izuku grimaces, ducking forward to nudge Shinsou out of the way, blocking Aizawa’s hit. Aizawa steps back, watching them. 

“Do you actually mean that?” Shinsou asks, his face twisting strangely. “Or are you just trying to be nice?”

“I mean it,” Izuku says, clenching his hands into tight fists. “So stop being an asshole, and help me fight Aizawa-sensei.” 

Shinsou nods, stepping back into a fight stance that mirrors Izuku’s own. “Fine,” he says, and they turn to face Aizawa, together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: self harm mentions and that's it i think
> 
> i hope u enjoyed!!! thank you for the comments and stuff, and thank u for being patient with me as i do weird shit like insert arcs between canon ones :')
> 
> discord: https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt


	32. training montage, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku trains with aizawa, opens up a little, trains with shinsou, argues a little. it's fun all around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!!! i hope you're all doing well! i don't have classes fridays so today is my friday :3
> 
> i know i don't normally warn for this in beginning notes, but please be cautious about the suicide stuff in this chapter. i'll detail more in the end notes, but it's more than the usual stuff
> 
> enjoy!!

The idea comes to Izuku when he’s training with Mirio and All Might, when they’re trying to get Mirio to increase his tolerance to his new quirk. Mirio’s just thrown a punch, one that sends wind rushing forward from his fist, and he sighs, flexing his fingers.

“Y’know, I read up on quirk training again,” he says, tossing his head to the side to look at where All Might and Izuku are watching. “It’s different than my permeation for sure, but the basic concepts still apply.” All Might nods, humming in agreement, but Izuku blinks. 

“Like what?” he asks, and Mirio pauses, before a knowing look passes over his face.

“Oh, duh, I forgot that you never would have had quirk counseling.” He gives Izuku a bright smile. “It’s pretty simple. Quirks are kind of like muscles, so the more you push your limits with them, the bigger your limit gets.” He looks down at his hand. “There’s also the control aspect of it. The more you practice, the better you get at that. I had to worry about control with permeation more than the limits, but with my new quirk, I’m having issues with both.” He flexes his fingers, and Izuku can see the way they’re swollen and irritated. Any time the older boy used his quirk too much, he got sore and bruised, like he’d been punching a wall or something. Izuku doesn’t envy him; at least with Izuku’s quirk, he doesn’t get negative effects on just a couple of uses.

“Have you named your new quirk yet?” Izuku asks, thinking out loud. “It’s not from either of your parents, right? So you’d get to name it yourself.” 

Mirio blinks, then laughs. “I, um... I haven’t thought about it!” He rubs the back of his neck, an almost nervous look on his face, and Izuku doesn’t miss the way he glances at All Might.  _ All Might doesn’t have a name for his quirk, either, at least not publicly,  _ Izuku thinks.  _ Maybe it’s something he suggested to Mirio _ .

Izuku nods. “I guess it doesn’t really need a name to work,” he says in response, and Mirio nods. 

“Right!” He replies, flexing and unflexing his hands. “Oh, that reminds me. Have your teachers talked at all about the summer training?” 

Izuku tips his head to the side. “Summer training?” he echoes, his brows furrowing slightly. Mirio laughs.

“I guess that answers my question!” he responds. “Usually there’s a lot of quirk training, so I was wondering what they’ll do with you while you’re there,” he says. “Maybe they’ll teach you some new weapons or something!”

Izuku blinks, nodding, but as Mirio turns back to the practice dummy to throw another quirk-powered punch, an idea is starting to form in Izuku’s head. He watches Mirio’s fist extend neatly, a little bubble of pressed air shooting off from it, whooshing forward to slap into the practice dummy’s face.  _ Quirk training, huh _ ?

\--

The way Izuku sees it, his quirk training should meet three criteria. It should push his limits, it should improve his control, and it should make good use of the time he gets from the resets. Izuku’s pretty sure that the first part will be easy--he just has to die a bunch, right? As long as he gets to the point where he’s slightly ill but not unable to function, it shouldn’t be an issue at school. The last part is simple, too. Izuku can study in the time between his reset point and when he kills himself, or he can gather information or  _ something _ . He’ll get to have more time than anyone else, that’s for sure.

_ I have no idea how to improve my control, though. _ He’s sitting on the edge of his bathtub now, waiting for it to fill with warm water. The steam rolling off of it makes his face feel sticky and moist as he turns his knife over in his hands. There’s the obvious thing, which is getting better at killing himself quickly, but the issue with that is that it’s not  _ actually _ controlling his  _ quirk _ , is it? Izuku’s pretty sure at this point that he has to die to activate it, so it’s not like he’ll be able to control the activation, but he’s still not totally sure why he resets to when he does.  _ Maybe, with practice, I’ll be able to choose _ . 

Izuku wishes, not for the first time, that his journals kept the information he put in them between resets. If they did, he’d be able to take notes as he went, be able to record each reset method and each round of training perfectly and permanently, but as it is, he’s going to have to rely on his memory of things. As he takes off his clothes and slides into the warm bathwater, he’s strangely excited. If this goes as planned, he’ll get to try so many different ways to kill himself that he might find a way that works better than what he's been doing thus far.

The bath is warm and soothing, but Izuku still feels his pulse pick up when he holds the sharp blade of his knife to the side of his neck, to the crook between his windpipe and the muscle that runs along the side. He can feel the knife shifting and bobbing with the force of his blood pumping through that artery, not far beneath the skin. Izuku takes a deep breath, and plunges the knife into his neck, digging as deep as he can. 

He bleeds out in moments.

\--

Izuku wakes up in his bedroom, sitting at his desk with his hands on the keyboard. He blinks, glancing to the time on his monitor. It’s 7:21 p.m., so about 10 minutes before he’d gone to run the bath to start his training. He feels fine.  _ First try, 7:21, nothing wrong,  _ he thinks to himself.  _ First try, 7:21, nothing wrong _ . He tries to burn it into his mind, tries to remember the time. He needs to know the detail of how his quirk works.

He’s got a list, typed up on an unnamed file on his computer and hidden in the recycling bin. He clicks through, opening it up. If it gets deleted, it’s not a big deal, and even though his mom shares this computer with him, it’s in his room, after all. He’ll have time to close the file if she wants to use it, and she won’t check the recycling bin.

The notepad file is simple, just a list of methods he wants to try. The first one,  _ slit your throat _ , is done. He doesn’t bother removing it from the list.  _ It’s not like it’s going to stay different _ . He looks down the list, reading the second item.  _ Electrocution. _

Izuku closes the list and stands up, stretching. He’s read up on this one, and while he’s certainly no electrician, he definitely knows more than he used to. He thinks he’s got a good idea of how to pull this off, and it’ll be extra easy tonight of all nights. He’d picked tonight to do this in the first place because his mom is out with Kacchan’s mom, getting dinner at a little restaurant a few blocks south of Kacchan’s house. She’d been so apologetic, telling Izuku she’d be gone until at least ten. Izuku had felt kind of bad convincing her it was fine, but it’s not like he’s going to try this with her in the house.

Izuku walks out of his bedroom, his socked feet making almost no noise on the floor of their home. Most of the lights are out, and the sun has started to set outside their windows, so the house is shrouded in dark shadows, filling the corners and the floor like grey water. Izuku shuffles into the kitchen, listening to the steady ticking of the clock that hangs above the stove, and he matches his steps to the sound. Izuku crouches down, opening the kitchen cabinet. He pulls out the toaster, a shiny silver thing with a coiled up cord nestled beside it, and he shuts the cabinet with a soft clink. Izuku lifts the toaster and walks back to the bathroom, listening as the beat of the clock slowly grows quieter. He sets the toaster on the bathroom counter and turns to the tub, turning on the faucet to the hottest it goes. He can’t hear the clock ticking at all. 

Izuku stares at the rising water, filling the tub with steaming liquid. The mist rising off of the surface quickly fills the air, and Izuku breathes it in, slowly, as he unwinds the cord of the toaster. The black plastic on the cord is cool and slightly sticky under his fingers, and it’s easy enough to plug it in to the wall. He wonders if he should turn it on, or if it’ll do the job turned off. He turns, shutting off the faucet. It’s too quiet in the bathroom, now, the only sound a quiet dripping of water from the metal faucet, plinking into the bath. Izuku takes a deep breath before sliding off his clothes and pressing the button down on the toaster. 

The bath is hot, hot enough that it stings when he slips into the water, but Izuku doesn’t really care. He hisses at the heat as he lowers himself in so that his chest is completely submerged, reaching down with one hand to make sure he’s turning the metal at the drain. He leans his head back until the bare skin on the back of his neck is pressed to the metal of the faucet.  _ I have to complete the circuit _ , he thinks, even though he’s not entirely sure the whole thing works. He hopes it’s enough to kill him as he reaches with his other hand and hooks his fingers under the bottom of the toaster, tugging it off of the counter and into the bath.

It hits the water with a splash, and in a few seconds, Izuku feels the shock, a sensation like he’s being shook up, like he’s the carbonation in a soda someone had dropped on the ground. It hurts like getting burned, but it only lasts a couple of seconds before he just feels numb and hot, his vision blurring and then going black.

\--

Izuku wakes up at his desk, blinking in surprise. He hadn’t really noticed the dying part of that, hadn’t even really realized he was going unconscious. He bites at his lower lip, glancing to the time on his desktop.  _ Second try, 7:21, no symptoms _ . He opens his file, even though he knows what’s next on the list.  _ Hanging _ . 

Izuku closes the file and stands up from his desk. He’s thought about this one, of course, spent long hours reading about it, erased his browser history plenty of times. He’s even got a rope that he’d picked up after school a few days ago, stashed in his closet behind a box of old notes from his middle school classes. He goes to his closet and takes it out now, feeling the rough texture of it, the twists and spirals in the material. It’s looped up, and the bundle of it is heavy in his hands. 

Izuku can’t say he’s looking forward to this one, but he sits down on the edge of his bed anyway, the mattress compressing under his weight as he starts to tie the end of the rope. He takes about four feet of the rope and folds it, then wraps it around itself. He watches the knot form, just like he’s seen in old American movies about criminals who rode on horses and killed with flintlock pistols. Izuku slips the end of the rope through the small loop and tightens it, testing the strength of his handiwork. It feels sturdy. Deadly.

Izuku walks back to his closet, where his clothes hang by a wooden rod set into the wall. This is where he’s not sure if it’ll work; what if it isn’t high enough or strong enough to hold his weight? He ties the other end of the rope to the closet rod, setting the loop as high as he can get it. He has to stand on his tippy toes to get his head inside the loop, and he grits his teeth in preparation as he drops, picking his legs up so that they’re no longer supporting his weight.

The noose tightens like a vice around his neck, and Izuku feels a pressure in his head like he’s never known--a thick, heavy sensation. He sees lights flashing in his vision, hears a ringing in his ears, and in a few seconds, he’s gone.

\--

Izuku opens his eyes.  _ 7:21. Third try.  _ He takes a moment, thinks. He might have a headache, might be a little more tired than he was after the first few tries, but it’s hard to tell. He thinks he can still hear the ringing in his ears, but when he concentrates, tries to see if he’s imagining it, all he can hear is the soft whir of the computer fan and the crickets outside his window.  _ Third try, 7:21, tired,  _ is what he settles on. 

This time, he spends an hour and half studying, just rereading the textbooks and his notes, looking up the things that confuse him and writing messy notes he knows will be gone when he wakes up next. He’s not dreading the next method, exactly, but he’s determined to use this time wisely. The hour and a half goes by far too quickly.

When Izuku goes to the kitchen and gets a blakc plastic garbage bag from under the sink, the same kind he’d used to clean up the beach this spring, tears come to his eyes without his permission. He cries, quietly in the empty kitchen as he tightens the bag around his neck, using the ties of the bag to seal in his air. He squeezes out the air that’s already in the bag, the wetness of his tears sticking the plastic to his face. He sits down on the floor and waits.

Suffocation takes longer than hanging, and it feels worse. After a few moments, Izuku is still very much alive and conscious, but his head hurts and he feels like he’s not getting enough air. He feels his heart rate start to pick up, faster and faster as a sense of desperate panic overtakes him. In his last waking moments, he claws at the bag where it’s tied to his throat, his fingers to numb and weak to do anything more than scratch at the skin.

\--

Izuku wakes up gasping this time, his head pounding a steady rhythm to the beat of his heart. He sucks in air, his eyes blurring with the tears that come to them as he glances to the clock. Even though he’s not  _ trying  _ to change his reset point this time, it still hurts to see that it’s the same.  _ Fourth try, _ he thinks.  _ 7:21. My head hurts. _

He grabs his phone where it sits next to him on the desk, his breath coming in shaky sobs.  _ Just one more time _ , he thinks.  _ One more tonight and then I’ll take a break until tomorrow _ . He opens his messaging app, even though he knows it’s a bad idea, and he types out a message to Todoroki.

_ Hey, are you awake? _ He types, sending it before he can talk himself out of it. He draws his knees up to his chest, leaning his side into the desk chair and pressing his face into the fabric. He stares at his phone screen even though it’s blurry, blinking every few seconds to clear the tears from his eyes. His head hurts.

_ Yes, _ comes the reply.  _ Is everything okay? _ Izuku isn’t surprised by that response, really. He doesn’t text Todoroki often, and if he does, he’s usually pretty bright and cheerful, sending emojis and lots of exclamation points. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and types out a reply.

_ I’m okay!!! I have a headache, though. _ He hopes he isn’t worrying Todoroki too much, but a selfish little part of him wants someone to worry about him, to comfort him. He doesn’t have to open his file to know that the next method he has lined up is a painful one, a slow one. 

_ I’m sorry _ , Todoroki replies.  _ Are you ill? _ Izuku bites at his lip a little as he types out a reply.

_ Kind of, _ he sends, then,  _ I get headaches like this when I overwork myself. I’ve been training a lot lately _ . It’s close enough to the truth, and it’s not like Todoroki is going to remember this, anyway. Izuku slowly uncurls himself from his position on the chair, standing and walking into the laundry room as he watches Todoroki’s replies pop up on his screen.

_ Rest is important, _ Todoroki sends.  _ Are you resting right now, at least? _ Izuku can’t help but grimace a little at that as he pulls open the cabinet they keep all of their soaps and cleaning stuff in. He pulls a bottle of bath additive out, then a container of a cleaning chemical. He tugs out a thick plastic bin they use for soaking stained clothes in bleach water, setting it on the floor.

_ I’m still training,  _ Izuku replies.  _ I’m almost done, though.  _ He puts both chemicals on the floor next to the bin and stands up, grabbing clothing from the nearest bin and stuffing the cloth against the gap at the bottom of the door and the air vents in the corner of the room. The laundry room is tiny as is, and with the vents plugged, it already feels stuffy and stale in the room.

_ If you’re feeling ill, you should rest _ , Todoroki replies, quickly. Izuku thinks he must be watching the phone.  _ Why are you training right now? We had a full schedule at school today. That should be sufficient to improve your skills. _ Izuku empties one of the bottles into the plastic container. 

_ It’s okay, _ Izuku replies.  _ I’m really almost done. You’re a good friend, you know that, right? _ He sits down on the floor, right in front of the little tub and unscrews the other bottle. This one smells sharp and acrid.

_ Thank you _ , Todoroki replies. Izuku starts pouring the second bottle into the mix.  _ Are you really okay? You’re acting strangely. _ The room starts to smell of rotten eggs.

_ I’m okay, _ Izuku texts, sending the message as his vision starts to swim. He sees a reply appear on screen, but as he draws his next breath, his vision blurs to nothingness.

\-- 

Izuku’s first thought upon waking is that that wasn’t nearly as painful as he’d thought it would be. He wishes that he knew how long he was unconscious before he died, though, because if it was more than a few minutes, he’d be worried about the smell tipping someone off to what he’s doing.

Izuku glances at the clock, the ache in his head still there, stronger and angrier. His stomach is rolling, too, and as he settles back into wakefulness, he feels a sharp sting in his belly and a nausea that has him covering his mouth with one hand, gagging into his palm as he throws himself out of his room and into the bathroom. He leans over the toilet, heaving into the bowl. 

_ Fifth try, 7:21, headache and throwing up. This is my limit. _

\--

Classes the next day are... difficult. Izuku remembers it taking about a week to fully recover after the sports festival, but he wasn’t banking on heroics training hand to hand combat training. It should be a warm day, but the only part of Izuku that feels warm in the slightest is his face, which he’d noticed was flushed red when he got up this morning. He’s pretty sure he’s got a fever, too, but he hasn’t checked and frankly doesn’t really want to know.  _ I’ll get through this, either way, and as soon as I think it’ll be safe, I’ll train more. It’ll be worth the pain when I can reset more times without getting sick like this. _

“Midoriya!” All Might calls his name, startling him slightly. “You’ll be sparring with young Bakugou.” Izuku nods, turning his head to see where Kacchan is standing, his face set in a scowl. All Might keeps talking, announcing the other pairings, as Izuku walks over to his friend, biting at his lip.  _ It’s been a while since we’ve sparred _ , he thinks. 

“Deku,” Kacchan greets, cracking his knuckles. “I’m not going to go easy on you,” he says, pivoting on his heels and walking towards one of the areas taped off for sparring. Izuku swallows, training behind him.

“I-I wouldn’t expect you to,” he replies, the foam mats bouncing slightly under his bare feet. “I don’t think we’re allowed to use quirks, though.”

Kacchan huffs. “Yeah, I fucking heard.” He stops at the edge of the square and turns to face Izuku, his eyes narrowed slightly. “What the fuck is wrong with your face, anyway? Did you get a sunburn or something stupid?” 

“N-No!” Izuku says, shaking his head. “I, um, I-I don’t know what you’re talking about?” It comes out as more of a question, and Izuku watches as Kacchan slowly raises an eyebrow at him, lips drawing into a snarl.

“Fine then, don’t tell me,” he growls, getting into a fighting stance. “You know what to fucking do. Let’s fight, Deku.” Izuku swallows and nods, because he really  _ does _ know what to do. Fighting with Kacchan is something he’s been doing for a really, really long time. The difference between when they were kids and now is that Izuku fights back. 

Izuku makes eye contact with Kacchan before starting, stepping forward with his back leg and spinning around to throw a neat kick at Kacchan’s head. It’s slow on purpose, mostly to signal the start of the fight, and Kacchan blocks it with a forearm, his bare skin making a slapping sound against the flesh of Izuku’s ankle. Izuku lands, a little more unsteady than he would normally be. He can't help it, really; his head is swimming, and even though he’s not nauseous, he feels like his limbs are weaker than they should be. 

Kacchan twists his weight onto his front foot, lobbing a punch that glances past Izuku’s cheek. The dodge sends sparks of light into the edges of Izuku’s vision, and he can't help but frown, unable to do anything more than bring up an arm to block the kick Kacchan throws at him next. His head is throbbing, more than before, and he wonders why exercise would be making it worse. He sees Kacchan’s brows furrow, and when Kacchan throws a right hook at him, Izuku  _ knows _ he’s going slowly on purpose. Testing Izuku’s reaction time.

Izuku blocks it with both hands, but they both know he’s weaker than he should be. Kacchan is scowling, and Izuku steps away from him, his head buzzing with something that feels almost like TV static. He blinks once, then again, but the fuzzy edges to his vision won’t fade. He gives his head a shake, but that makes it worse.

“Deku, what the fuck?” Kacchan asks, but his voice is lacking it’s usual heat. Izuku feels a warm hand grab him by the bicep, the heat of Kacchan’s palm leaking through Izuku’s sleeve.

“‘M okay,” Izuku mutters, trying to swat Kacchan’s hand off of him, but the grip only tightens. Kacchan hisses out a breath, tugging Izuku closer and resting the back of his hand on Izuku’s forehead. His skin is cool and dry, and Izuku blinks at the contact, somehow surprised by it even though he’d seen it coming.

“Are you fucking _ sick _ ?” Kacchan asks, a mixture of anger and alarm in his voice. “Why the fuck are you here if you’re sick? You can barely stand, asshat.” He drops his hand from Izuku’s forehead, moving it to his other arm and tugging on him, half-shoving and half-guiding him to the ground. Izuku blinks dazedly up at him, his vision swimming as he looks up from his seat on the gym mat. He wonders, briefly, why Kacchan looks so worried. 

“Not sick,” he replies, shaking his head.  _ Bad idea, _ he thinks vaguely. His vision is going dark, and he registers that his heart is beating too fast in his chest. He sets a hand over his heart, trying to see if he can feel it through his chest, but he can’t even really hold his hand up to do that. His hand drops to his lap and he stares at it. He wonders why he’s sitting on the floor of the gym.

“Hey, All Might!” Kacchan shouts, too loud. Izuku winces. “Something’s really fuckign wrong with Deku!” Izuku looks up, blinking, and when he sees the entire class turning to look at them, he presses his palms to the foam mat and starts to push himself up.

“Stay down, idiot,” Kacchan hisses as Izuku lurches to his feet unsteadily. Izuku sees Kacchan reaching out to steady him, but each time Izuku blinks, his vision fills more and more with a sort of buzzing blackness, and vaguely, he wonders if he’s dying

\--

When Izuku comes to, it’s slow and gentle, like tugging himself out of bed on a Sunday morning, the sheets still warm around him. That’s how he knows he hasn’t died, really. Resetting for him has always felt like coming up for air after swimming, like blinking water from his eyes and gasping while he takes in his surroundings. It’s not unpleasant, but it’s never nice like this, either.

He opens his eyes, his vision blurry for a second until it clears, showing him the familiar ceiling of UA’s infirmary. Above him to his left, he can see an IV bag full of dark, crimson red blood, labelled with  _ O negative _ in big text. He blinks at it for a moment, realizing that it’s half empty, before he starts to pull himself into a sitting position. He feels something warm and heavy on his legs, and he looks down, his mouth opening slightly in surprise.

Draped on top of his blanket-covered legs and still wearing his sports uniform is Kacchan, his cheek pressed into the blue blanket and his face smooth and relaxed with sleep, turned to face Izuku. His arms are folded under his head, and as he breathes in and out, Izuku can see his brow twitching, like he’s irritated in a dream. Izuku stares at his friend, blinking and wondering if he’s dreaming.

“Oh, good,” Recovery Girl’s voice startles Izuku, but he manages to suppress his instinct to jump. “You’re up.”

“W-What...?” Izuku glances between Recovery Girl as she shuts the door behind her and steps into the room with a clipboard and where Kacchan sleeps, his breath blowing over the blanket. Recovery Girl gives Izuku a long look before her eyes slide over to Kacchan.

“Ah, yes. After you fainted, Bakugou insisted on staying with you, even though it really would have been better to treat you without him hovering the entire time. It seemed less likely to result in property damage if we let him stay.” Recovery Girl huffs out a sigh, reaching over to adjust something on his IV drip machine.

“I fainted?” Izuku asks, because all he really remembers is fighting with Kacchan and then sitting down on the gym mat. It’s kind of vague in his mind, and he frowns, trying to remember.

“You did,” Recovery Girl confirms. “Gave us all quite a scare. You really should have told someone you were feeling ill, you know.”

“I-I wasn’t,” Izuku says, looking down to fidget with the edge of his blanket. Recovery Girl snorts, and he glances up to see her give him an unimpressed look.

“You were so anemic that I had to give you blood,” she says, jerking her head at the blood bag. “This is your second unit, you know. I would imagine you were feeling very poorly.”

Izuku shrugs, picking at a loose thread. “It wasn’t really that bad,” he murmurs, and Recovery Girl sighs.

“You didn’t want to worry anyone, did you?” She steps closer to him, reaching out to grab his wrist and press her fingers to the pulse point. “I used my quirk on you, and it seemed to help. You know what that suggests, don’t you? You’re a bright boy.”

Izuku swallows. “I-It means it was an injury?” he replies, his voice more of a question. Recovery Girl drops his wrist and makes a note on her clipboard, nodding.

“My quirk doesn’t work on illnesses, at least not for more than an hour or two,” she says, not looking up as she writes. “So, do you know how you ended up damaging your bone marrow, young man?”

Izuku blinks. “M-My bone marrow?” Recovery Girl nods, looking up from the clipboard.

“I healed your other injuries, as well,” she says, glancing meaningfully at his arm. Izuku looks down at the bare skin, uncovered with the short sleeved hospital gown. The cuts he’d put there the night before are gone, without even a scar. The gown is oversize enough to cover his silvery-light scars just above the elbow, but a couple below the joint are barely visible if he squints.

“Y-You--” Izuku starts, panic rising in his voice, but Recovery Girl cuts him off.

“Legally, I can’t share this with anyone,” she says. “I would like you to speak with someone about it, though.” Izuku nods, not meeting her eyes.

“I-I’m talking to Aizawa-sensei about it already,” he says, which isn’t really a lie. 

“Good,” Recovery Girl says, sounding surprised. “I’m glad to hear that. There’s still the issue of your illness, though. I’m sure it hasn’t escaped your notice that this is nearly identical to the sickness you suffered from after the attack on USJ,” she says, and when Izuku looks up to her, her face is grim.

“USJ?” he echoes, watching her nod. 

“I’m afraid that this may mean that you have permanent damage from whatever quirk you were hit with,” she says, reaching out to rest a cool hand on his shoulder. “It’s not certain yet, but I’d like to run some blood tests twice a month for a while to keep an eye on things. Thankfully, you seem to be responding well to the transfusions.” She nods to the IV line again and Izuku blinks, swallowing.

“R-Right,” he says, his voice low. Recovery Girl gives him a sympathetic look.

“I know it’s a lot,” she says, voice soft. “I’ve spoken with your mother about it already, and in the case that you do have long term effects, we’ll work together to get you set up with a specialist. For now though,” she says, glancing to where Kacchan is lying on Izuku’s shins, “get some rest, okay?”

Izuku nods numbly as Recovery Girl gives his shoulder a final squeeze before walking out of the room, her cane clinking against the tile. He swallows, his throat feeling thick and stiff as he hears the door shut. He watches, not surprised, exactly, as Kacchan cracks one eye open, clearly not just waking up. His friend sits up, a scowl forming on his features.

“Don’t fucking tell anyone about that,” he says, but there’s no heat to his words.

“I won’t,” Izuku replies, looking past Kacchan more than at him. “How much did you hear?

“Just from the part about the USJ or whatever. You’ll be fine,” Kacchan says, quietly. “A stupid quirk isn’t going to stop your stubborn ass from being a hero.”

Izuku nods, the movement jerky. “I know,” he says. He wants to tell Kacchan that it isn’t someone else’s quirk, that it isn’t something he can’t control. That it’s something he did to himself by being stupid, by pushing his limits too hard.  _ I guess I know to stop at the headache stage, now _ , he thinks bitterly.

“You should have fucking said something,” Kacchan mumbles. Izuku smiles slightly, the gesture feeling fake. It must look fake, too, because when he focuses his eyes on Kacchan, his friend’s scowl deepens.

“Were you worried about me?” Izuku asks, raising an eyebrow slightly. Kacchan scoffs, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Of course not,” he replies, but he doesn’t meet Izuku’s eyes and there’s something that might be a hint of redness on his cheeks. Izuku takes a deep breath, twists his hands in the blankets. 

“I guess I’ll have to be more careful, next time,” he whispers. He hates the way he can feel tears starting to prickle in the edges of his eyes. He hates the way Kacchan’s gaze snaps back to him, the way Kacchan can definitely tell he’s about to cry. He hates the way he’s worried Kacchan, the way he’ll surely be held back from physical training for at least a week after this, so soon to finals, too. He hates this whole situation, but it’s not like he can reset and redo it when it’s resetting too much that got him here in the first place.

_ Next time _ , he thinks,  _ I’ll be more careful. Next time, nobody will find out. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: VERY GRAPHIC SUICIDE multiple times including methods. vomiting and hospitals as well
> 
> y'all didn't think we'd get a training montage arc without izuku trying to train his quirk, did you? this isn't just a filler arc, for the record :3 there is a method to my madness, as wild as it is. i actually meant this chapter to include one more scene and for the existing scenes to be shorter, but I had to fill out some more stuff because it just felt.... stilted. anyway I hope you're all doing well!!!! tysm as always for the comments and kudos, they feed my soul <3
> 
> discord: https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt


	33. training montage, part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku kills himself in multiple new and creative ways! then passes out and gets his ass in the hospital

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiiiii!!! there may not be an update tomorrow, as I'll be out of town!!! but for now, enjoy!!!
> 
> also this fic is ONE MONTH OLD!!!! i can't believe it's only been a month really, it's so long !! i really hope you've enjoyed this fic thus far, whether you're joining us later on or if you've been here since the beginning!

When Izuku steps into the classroom the next day, he can immediately feel all eyes on him. It probably doesn’t help that Kacchan walks in just before him, glaring at the class before shoving his way over to his seat and flopping down into it. Izuku glances across the classroom, his heart picking up slightly in his chest when he sees that  _ everyone _ is staring, from Uraraka and Todoroki and Iida to Kacchan’s friend group to Aoyama and Ojiro. Izuku thinks Hagakure is staring, too, based on how her clothing is angled in her seat, but it’s kind of hard to tell.

“Midoriya!” Kirishima says, walking toward him from where he’d been standing by Ashido’s desk. “Dude, are you okay? You were out  _ cold _ yesterday, it was kind of scary.” He stops a few feet from Izuku, looking him over. 

“I-I’m okay now,” Izuku replies, ducking his head at the sudden attention. Kirishima hums, nodding.

“You look like you’re better, for sure. You were all pale and shit yesterday. What happened, anyway? Are you sick?” He lifts a hand to Izuku’s forehead, and Izuku feels his face flushing red as he shakes his head, taking a step back.

“I-I was, but I’m better now!” he chirps, and Kirishima nods with a smile, taking a step back. Behind him, Izuku can see most of the class watching.

“Good!” he says, grinning. From across the classroom, Kacchan snarls.

“Leave the idiot alone, Shitty Hair,” he growls. “He’s fucking fine now.” Izuku blinks, eyes sliding to Kirishima again, but Kirishima seems unfazed, just tipping his head back and laughing as he walks back to his own seat.

“Sure thing, Blasty. You were pretty freaked out yesterday, yourself!” he says, nudging Kacchan’s desk with his hip as he walks by. Kacchan growls like an angry dog, his eyes narrowing.

“Shut the fuck up,” Kacchan mumbles, his hands popping where they’re pressed to his desk. Izuku swallows, glancing around the class, but most people have turned away from him, seemingly satisfied. Izuku breathes a sigh of relief and walks to where Uraraka, Iida, Tsuyu, and Todoroki are sitting. They’re still watching him, of course, but that’s normal for them.  _ We’re friends, after all _ .

“Hey, Deku!” Uraraka chirps, smiling at him as he slides into his seat. “Are you really feeling better? We were really worried about you.” Iida nods from next to her, his face serious.

“I-I’m really okay now,” Izuku replies, tugging his backpack off of his shoulder and onto the ground, unzipping it. “I was just anemic,” he says, pulling his notes out from his bag. 

“Anemia can be pretty serious, ribbit,” Tsuyu says. “But I’m glad you’re feeling better, Midoriya.” Izuku nods, feeling his face heat slightly. 

“Is it because of your abilities?” Todoroki asks, and Izuku can’t help the way his head shoots up to look at him, startled. “Knowledge can be a heavy burden to bear.”

“His what?” Uraraka asks, raising an eyebrow. “Todoroki, is this what you were talking about earlier?” Her voice is laden with amusement, and Izuku watches as Iida shakes his head.

“I’ve explained to you already, Todoroki. There is simply no way that Midoriya can see the future!” He chops a hand through the air with an air of authority. “It’s impossible.”

“Y-Yeah,” Izuku says, looking at the wooden surface of his desk. “I-I can't see the future, really... I’m just good at guessing stuff, is all.” Izuku glances up to see Todoroki tip his head to the side slightly, his eyes narrowing in thought. He hums quietly.

“You may have them fooled, but I’m not convinced,” Todoroki says, with Uraraka snickering in the background. Izuku laughs along with her, even though he’s a little anxious about what Todoroki’s saying. His nerves jump up the tiniest bit as he sees Aizawa stepping into the classroom, shuffling through the doorway. 

“Midoriya,” he says, stepping into his usual spot behind his desk. Izuku swallows.

“Y-Yes?” he asks, his voice cracking slightly. Aizawa doesn’t seem to notice or care.

“Stay behind after class,” he says, glancing up to make eye contact with Izuku. “I need to talk to you.”

“Ooh, someone’s in trouble,” Kaminari calls from across the classroom, and Izuku feels his face flaring red with a mix of embarrassment and nerves. Aizawa sighs.

“Kaminari, shut up,” he says, voice heavy with annoyance, and the murmur of laughter that rolls through the classroom is almost enough to soothe Izuku’s anxiety, but not quite.

\--

When the bell rings, Izuku stands up from his seat and slings his backpack over his shoulder, stepping up to stand in front of Aizawa’s desk. He doesn’t meet the man’s eyes, staring instead at the blackboard behind him, at the chalk writing there. He stares at the dust white lines, listening as his classmates slowly filter out of the room. He hears a soft sigh from his teacher, and he knows they’re alone.

“Midoriya,” he says. “I’ve spoken with you before about being honest with regard to your health.” Izuku glances up, seeing his teacher almost glaring at him. “So why, exactly, did you not say you were feeling ill  _ before _ starting a physical exercise?” His eyebrow twitches, and Izuku recognizes that he’s angry with him. Izuku bites at his bottom lip.

“I-I wasn’t feeling bad,” he says, shuffling his feet. Aizawa sighs, running a hand through his messy hair.

“Problem child,” Aizawa says, his brow twitching. “I’m not an idiot. If you’re sick enough to need a  _ blood transfusion _ , you’ve been feeling bad for a while.” Izuku swallows, then nods, hesitantly.

“I just thought I was tired, really,” he says, looking at the wood of Aizawa’s desk instead of his face. “I didn’t feel that bad until I started exercising, I swear. It won’t happen again.”

“Midoriya.” Aizawa’s voice is firm, and Izuku glances up to meet his eyes. “You’re not in trouble for being sick. You understand that, right? You’re in trouble for not telling anyone before it got to the point of you passing out. You could have been seriously hurt if that had happened during a different exercise.” 

“R-Right,” Izuku says, his voice quiet. “I’ll tell you, next time,” he says, but the words sound hollow. Aizawa narrows his eyes at him.

“I certainly hope you will,” he says, sighing. “Dismissed. Mic already knows I’m speaking with you, so don’t worry about a pass.” Izuku nods, turning and practically running from the room.

\--

It’s probably a little soon for Izuku to go back out on the streets, but it’s a clear, cool night, and he can’t resist. His mom had asked him to wait a week, just until he was sure he was feeling better, but he’s been lying to enough people lately that he only feels a little bad for sneaking out as soon as she’d gone to sleep. 

The streets are louder in the summertime, the crickets and the cicadas singing a quiet whispering tune in the grass, the wind louder as it snakes between the buildings. Izuku’s a little out of the way from his usual patrol route, just a block to the east from his usual path, but he’d seen a familiar white capture scarf and decided he’d really rather not argue with Aizawa  _ again _ . He doesn’t have the energy for it, not really. 

So maybe it’s fate or chance or just good luck when Izuku sees them, tucked into an alley between two nightclubs, facing each other. Leadfoot is in her usual outfit, her metal platform boots gleaming dully in the light, but the man she faces is unfamiliar to Izuku. His skin is strange, warped with dark violet scars and held together with silver staples, gleaming bright even in the darkness. His eyes are a bright blue under his head of dark hair, and as he and Leadfoot glare at each other, Izuku slips into the shadow of the alley he’s standing in, just across from the two of them. He’s close enough that he can hear the scrape of metal on concrete as Leadfoot shifts slightly, her shoes grating on the ground.

“We’ve acquired the first target, yes,” she says, voice low. “I don’t know the details. It’s not really my area.” Izuku watches her fold her arms over her chest, the rings on her hands looking almost purple in the light of the pink neon sign above the nightclub to her back. The man sighs, rolling his eyes.

“I don’t have time to deal with whatever political shit you have going on. I just need you to uphold your side of the deal.” His hands are in the pockets of his ripped black jeans, but there’s no question that he could fight at any moment, the lines of his shoulders and back tight with tension. Leadfoot, in some ways, looks more relaxed than he does.

“It won’t be an issue,” she says, tapping her fingers against her suit sleeve. “But we won’t have the information until closer to the time, like I already told you. They haven’t even picked a location yet.” 

“Sure,” the man says, rolling his eyes sarcastically. “You sure your source isn’t just lying to you? It’s convenient that we’re less than a month out and you still don’t have it.” 

Leadfoot doesn’t seem fazed. “My source isn’t lying. They don’t have that option, not with our resources. You know that as well as I do.” She looks up and down his body, making a show of moving her head as she does. “If you betray the Gekkeiju, you get  _ burned _ .” She tips her head slightly to the side, a strange violet glow gathering around the edges of her metal rabbit ear and the surface of her mask. “I think you’d know just how intimidating that can be.”

“Are you threatening me?” The man hisses, pulling a hand from his pocket and holding it up as blue flame erupts around it, crackling and bright. Izuku swallows, shrinking back when he realizes he can feel the heat of it from where he stands, even though he’s over twenty feet away. 

“Far from it,” Leadfoot says, shaking her head. “If you don’t recognize a warning when you hear one, then what’s the point in giving it to you?” She sighs, unfolding her arms and spreading them slightly away from her. The metal bands on her arms and legs start to glow violet, even as they reflect the blue flame.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” The man hisses, swiping at her with a handful of blue flame. Leadfoot jerks back, not even moving her limbs. It’s like she’s being dragged by the metal all over her, like it’s moving her body for her.

“It means,” she says, rising a few feet off of the ground. “Don’t lie at the meeting tomorrow. Don’t do something that will get you hurt for no reason.” She sighs, raising a hand to examine her knuckles, the blue light of the man’s flames reflecting off of the metal rings there. 

“Sure sounds like a threat,” the man growls. Leadfoot drops her hand, looking down at him.

“Dabi,” she says, voice low. “Are you  _ really _ that dense?” Dabi glares up at her, blue eyes the same shade as his fire.

“No,” he replies, his voice a grumble. “Doesn’t mean I’m going to thank you for it. I can take care of myself, bitch. We’re not friends.”

“Thank god for that,” Leadfoot murmurs. “If I have to see any of you after this stupid alliance ends, I’ll end you myself.” Dabi snorts, rolling his eyes. 

“Then why the fuck are you warning me about your little group? What’s in it for you?” Dabi says, fire flickering around him, licking up the edges of the alleyway, blue and bright and hot. Izuku grits his teeth. 

“Nothing,” Leadfoot says, rising up from the alleyway. “Don’t make me regret it.” Her feet brushes the edge of the roof next to her, and she steps onto it gracefully, her hair whipping in the wind. From this angle, Izuku can see a sliver of skin normally hidden by her mask, can make out a yellow bruise over her cheekbone. He wonders how she could have gotten hurt, there, if she’s always wearing a metal mask. 

Izuku waits, watching from his dark corner, as Dabi leaves, swearing and mumbling to himself as he walks out of the alleyway and down the street, quelling his flame and shoving his hands back in his pockets. Izuku’s jaw is clenched so tight that it stings the muscles in his cheeks and temples, but he finally, finally steps out of his hiding spot. He can’t see either of the villains, can’t hear either of their footsteps, but he still moves quietly as he slips back through the streets.

\--

Izuku plops down on the bench with a sigh, the cool metal soaking up some of his excess heat. He’s practically dripping with sweat, and now more than ever he wishes he could take his shirt off. The sports uniform top is breathable, but the long sleeves are almost suffocating after his workout. Shinsou sits down next to him, wiping sweat off of his brow with a hand towel and grimacing.

“I feel like I’m dying,” Shinsou grumbles, leaning back and leaning against the wall. “Is this what being a hero course student is like every day?”

Izuku shakes his head, unscrewing the lid from his water bottle. “No,” he pants, taking a gulp of water. “Just training with Aizawa-sensei.” 

“You’re insane,” Shinsou says, his eyes sliding shut. “We’re both insane. Remind me to never, ever show up to training on an empty stomach,” he grumbles, the back of his head making a soft sound where it knocks against the wall of the gym. Izuku blinks, but it’s Aizawa who speaks. 

“Shinsou,” he says, his voice low in warning. Izuku glances up to see him standing in front of them, his arms crossed over his chest. “Did I hear that correctly?” Izuku swallows. Aizawa manages to look as intimidating in a thin black workout tank top and sweatpants as he does in his hero costume. Shinsou seems less fazed, opening one eye to stare back at Aizawa. Izuku lifts his water bottle to his mouth.

“Depends on what you heard,” Shinsou drawls, opening both eyes and sitting up, resting his elbows on his thighs and leaning forward. His pale skin is slightly flushed from exercise, but he manages to look bored anyway as he looks up at Aizawa. Izuku takes a sip of his water, trying not to make any noise.

“What have you eaten today?” Aizawa asks, staring Shinsou down. Shinsou sighs. Izuku swallows a mouthful of water.

“Nothing yet.” His eyes slide to the side, looking at the ground. Izuku watches as Aizawa sighs dramatically, shaking his head.

“Why didn’t you eat lunch?” He asks, scowling. Shinsou shrugs. 

“Didn’t feel like it,” he mumbles. “Why does it matter?”

“You need to be fed well to train well,” Aizawa replies, sighing. “It’s dangerous to train without having eaten. I know you’re smart enough to know that, Shinsou.” His gaze shifts over to Izuku. “Midoriya,” he says, and Izuku jumps a little in his seat. 

“Y-Yes?” He sits up straight, holding his water bottle in both hands in his lap. Aizawa’s eyes look to it before flickering back up to his face.

“Take Shinsou to get something to eat. I don’t care what it is, just get some food into him. You should eat something too, while you’re at it. Recovery Girl may have cleared you for training, but healing requires extra energy.” He glances back to Shinsou. “We’ll meet again in two days, same time. If you need money for lunch or somewhere to eat, come by my office.” He turns, walking toward the gym’s exit. Izuku blinks, glancing back over to see Shinsou scowling and looking at the floor.

“Um...” Izuku bites at his lip as he screws the lid back on his water bottle. “What do you want to eat?” Shinsou looks over at him, eyes narrowing.

“I’ll be fine on my own,” Shinsou snaps, standing up from the bench. He pauses, blinking, and Izuku can see him sway slightly and go pale. Izuku shoots up, holding up a hand to steady him, but Shinsou just gives himself a shake and glares at Izuku.

“Aizawa-sensei would be mad at both of us if I didn’t take you to get  _ something _ ,” Izuku reasons, even as Shinsou starts for the door, not looking at him. 

“Aizawa’s already mad at me,” Shinsou says. “I don’t need your pity.”

Izuku follows after him, scrambling to catch up to him. “I-It’s not pity,” he says, giving Shinsou a smile. “Sensei was right that I should eat something, so I-I would have gone anyway.”

“Fine,” Shinsou says, looking at Izuku. “But you’re paying.” Izuku wonders if that’s why Shinsou hasn’t eaten, but he doesn’t dare ask. Instead, he nods as they step out into the sunlight, the sounds of their feet on the sidewalk filling the gaps between their words.

“There’s a store not far from here that has some stuff,” Izuku says, giving Shinsou a smile. “What kind of stuff do you like?”

Shinsou shrugs. “I’m not picky,” he answers. “Food is food.” A bird chirps from the lawn to their left, hopping through the grass and picking at the ground. Izuku hums, looking forward. The sun hasn’t set, yet, but it’s close to, and the sky is a bright, saturated blue. 

“O-Okay!” Izuku chirps, stepping forward to lead the way. Shinsou walks just a step behind him, his hands in the pockets of his sports uniform. Izuku wonders, briefly, if he should suggest they change, but he doesn’t really want to have to explain to Shinsou why he changes in the bathroom stalls instead of in the locker room. It’s not like he hasn’t gone to this store in his uniform before, anyway. 

They walk along the street in near silence, the scuffing of Shinsou’s shoes loud against the concrete. Izuku’s own steps are quieter, softer and gentler. Even though he’s not sneaking right now, he’s started to walk more quietly, just by muscle memory. As they step out of UA’s front gate, Izuku hears the sounds of distant cars, the sound of a horn honking far away. He glances to Shinsou only to see that the boy is staring at him, his violet eyes half lidded. When their gazes meet, Izuku looks away, his eyes moving to the ground. 

“Um, Shinsou?” he asks, voice soft. “I’m sorry.” Their shadows are stretched out on the concrete in front of them, long and dark. Izuku hears Shinsou make a confused noise from beside him.

“What are you talking about?” Shinsou says, scoffing. Izuku bites his lip, not looking at him.

“At the sports festival, when you said that--that you should have been in the hero course?” Izuku kicks his foot against the ground, making a loud scuffing noise. “You were right. I-I’m sorry.” He hears a soft choking noise and glances over to Shinsou, startled. His face is painted with shock, his eyes open wide and his mouth open just slightly. 

“Midoriya, I only said that to get you to respond,” Shinsou says, shaking his head slightly, his brows twitching down slightly. Izuku bites at his lip, searching Shinsou’s face. He thinks he sees something in Shinsou’s eyes, a hint of guilt or regret or  _ something _ .

“Is that the only reason?” Izuku says softly, feeling his lips tug down slightly. Shinsou blinks, then barks out a startled laugh.

“You’ve been spending way too much time with Aizawa, dude,” he says, shaking his head. “And for the record, I’m sorry about what I said,” he glances down, his purple eyes trained on the ground. “Even if I was trying to use my quirk on you, it was still... I was still being an ass.” He mumbles slightly, and Izuku blinks.

“It’s okay,” Izuku replies, smiling just a little bit. “Did I really sound like sensei?”

“Yeah,” Shinsou snorts, shaking his head and sliding his hands into his pockets. “I’m surprised he cared about me missing lunch.”

Izuku laughs nervously. “Yeah, if he thinks you’re bad at taking care of yourself, he’ll hound you about it. He asks me almost every day if I’ve eaten and slept. It’s kind of annoying.” He rubs a hand on the back of his head, thinking back to Aizawa’s pestering. It had toned down a little bit, but with him getting sick a few days ago, he’d started to ask every day again. 

“Really?” Shinsou blinks, shaking his head. “I didn’t think a teacher would care that much.” 

Izuku nods. “Right? UA is pretty amazing, after all,” he throws a grin to Shinsou. “I can’t wait until you’re in our class full time.” Shinsou’s eyes widen, his mouth opening slightly, and he blinks, chock clear on his face. Izuku points to the store up ahead. “Oh, we’re here!” Izuku picks up his pace, almost jogging. He turns his head back to see Shinsou staring after him, stopped in place, and Izuku turns to walk backwards, giving him a smile. 

“C’mon!” He says, waving Shinsou toward him. “I’m hungry!” Shinsou nods, blinking as he hurries forward to catch up with Izuku.

“Did you mean that?” he murmurs, voice quiet as Izuku turns back to walk forward. Izuku blinks, tipping his head slightly to the side.

“About you being in our class?” Izuku pauses, watching Shinsou nod. “Yeah! It’ll be great. You’ll fit right in,” he says, pushing open the door to the store. Shinsou blinks, shaking his head.

“Even though I’m such a dick to you?” Shinsou asks as they step into the store, the cool air of the air conditioning hitting Izuku’s face, cooling the sweat there. Izuku shrugs. 

“I’m used to people being mean to me,” he says, leading Shinsou over to the fridge with rice balls in it. “What’s your favorite flavor? I’m going to get tarako, I think.”

“Just because you’re used to it doesn’t make it okay,” Shinsou says, half mumbling as he reads the labels of the onigiri. “I’ll get salmon.” Izuku nods, opening the fridge and taking out two of each flavor, nestling them in the crook of his arm as he pulls each one out. He steps back, and Shinsou shuts the fridge for him, his eyes on the rice balls.

“It’s okay, really,” Izuku says with a smile. “I’m not bothered by it. Here,” he says, passing Shinsou the two salmon rice balls. 

“Two?” Shinsou asks, staring at them as he takes them. “You don’t have to--”

“I want to,” Izuku insists. “You didn’t eat lunch, right? You need them both.” He grins as Shinsou stares down at them. 

“Thank you,” he mumbles, glancing back up at Izuku. Izuku smiles, and there’s something bright and happy in his chest as they step up to the counter to pay. 

\--

Izuku is walking to the gym when he gets a message, his phone buzzing in his pocket. He pulls it out, frowning when he sees the text from Mirio.

_ Hey Deku! Something came up and All Might and I can’t make training. I’m sorry it’s so short notice. _ Izuku bites at his lips, typing out a reply.

_ It’s okay! I’ll train on my own. I hope everything’s okay.  _ He kind of wishes that they were able to train with him, and he can’t deny that he’s a little disappointed they can’t meet with him. He pauses, standing outside of the gym and shuffling his weight between his feet and chewing at his bottom lip before opening his messaging app again.

_ Hey Kacchan, _ he types out.  _ What are you doing right now? _ He hesitates over the send button for a minute before pressing it. He’s not sure that Kacchan will reply, not even sure that he’s free, but Izuku  _ knows _ school's out for him and it can’t hurt, right? Worst case, Kacchan will just be annoyed at him.

_ Going to the gym,  _ comes the reply.  _ Why? _ Izuku fumbles to type the next text.

_ My training with All Might was cancelled,  _ he replies, and Kacchan texts back almost immediately. 

_ Train with me then idiot _ , he replies, and Izuku smiles.

_ Where?  _ He sends.  _ I’m outside gym gamma rn.  _

_ Come to gym omega _ , Kacchan texts back.  _ I’m warming up. _ Izuku stashes his phone in his pocket and starts to jog towards the building, using the short distance to the other gym to stretch his legs. It’s only a few hundred feet until he’s at the door, tugging on the handle and opening it. The air conditioning rushes out at him as he steps inside, blinking in the relative darkness compared to the bright light of the afternoon sun. Izuku walks over to the bench and toes off his shoes as he glances across the room to where Kacchan is crouched on the floor, doing leg stretches.

“H-Hey Kacchan!” Izuku calls, giving Kacchan a grin as he pulls off his socks. “T-Thank you for letting me train with you today,” he says, walking over to him. Kacchan raises an eyebrow, staring at him while he leans over and stretches his other leg.

“Yeah, whatever,” he says, huffing out a breath of air. “You gonna hold the bag for me?” He asks, jerking his head over to a punching bag in the corner of the room. “We’ll practice kicks and then we can spar or some shit.”

Izuku nods quickly, shuffling over to the bag and grabbing onto it, holding it against his hip and resting his hands on the side of it. He looks over the side of the bag as Kacchan stands up, cracking his knuckles and walking over to him. Kacchan stands in front of him in a fighting stance, hands up and knees bent, and Izuku, suddenly, feels the need to explain.

“It’s my quirk,” he says, not looking at Kacchan’s eyes, just holding the punching bag still and staring at the ground, at Kacchan’s bare feet on the mat. 

“What?” Kacchan says, confusion in his voice. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he asks, twisting forward and kicking the bag. 

“When I get sick, it’s my quirk,” Izuku says. He braces himself, feels the satisfying impact as Kacchan lands a solid hit on the bag.

“I figured, you had a fever during the sports festival. That’s a shitty fucking drawback,” he says, slightly out of breath from training. “It better do something pretty fucking awesome if it puts you in the hospital every time you use it.”

“It’s not every time,” Izuku says. “Just if I use it a bunch of times in a row. And I don’t always go to the hospital.”

Kacchan snorts. “I’ve never even seen you use it, and I see you getting sick.” He throws a punch, his fist smacking against the bag. 

“I’ve used it in front of you,” Izuku says, swallowing. “You just can’t tell, that’s part of how it works.”

“Are you ever going to fucking tell me what it is?” Kacchan asks, punctuating his sentence with a solid kick, horizontal from his hip and strong enough to make Izuku stumble slightly. 

“I-I will,” Izuku says, quietly. “Eventually.”

“Hm,” Kacchan grunts in lieu of an answer.

Izuku shrugs, adjusting his grip. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just that... you won’t like it.” He looks up to see Kacchan raising an eyebrow.

“I won’t like it? What the fuck does that mean? It’s got to be pretty powerful if you’re using it enough to get yourself sick, yeah?” Kacchan steps away from the bag, circling around to face Izuku, and Izuku lets go of the bag, sighing.

“You won’t like the activation requirements,” he says, folding his arms over his chest protectively. “They’re... you wouldn’t like them, Kacchan.”

“Why not?” Kacchan asks, folding his arms over his chest and staring Izuku down. “What the fuck are they?”

Izuku shrugs, not meeting his eyes. As much as it’s nice to talk to Kacchan about the quirk, to have  _ someone  _ who knows, it’s not good for his heart to think about how Kacchan would react to knowing. 

“Your quirk affects time,” Kacchan says, and Izuku's gaze snaps up, “doesn’t it?”

“H-How did you--” Izuku cuts himself off as Kacchan shrugs, arching a brow at him. 

“It’s kind of fucking obvious. I’m not the only one who’s noticed you seem to know shit you shouldn’t all the time, and you just told me that you’ve used it in front of me and I couldn’t tell. It sounds like you’re doing something with time or seeing the future or some shit.” Kacchan narrows his eyes. “Or are you reading minds?”

Izuku swallows. “I-It’s time,” he says, voice shaking. “You got it right the first time.” Kacchan glares at him.

“Was that a fucking pun?” He snarls, and Izuku blinks, holding back a laugh.

“N-No, not on purpose, I swear!” He says, holding his hands up in surrender. Kacchan snorts out a laugh, shaking his head as he rolls his eyes.

“So, you can go back in time or some shit?” he asks, red eyes meeting Izuku’s gaze. Izuku twists his face, biting at his lip and frowning.

“Kind of...” He shrugs, shuffling back over to the punching bag. “Let’s just train, Kacchan.” He feels eyes on him even as he looks away from Kacchan, his gaze tracing the ground instead. 

“Fine,” Kacchan grunts out, and when Izuku glances up, he seems him settling back into a fighting stance. “But you’re fucking telling me one day.”

Izuku smiles faintly, more of a grimace than anything. “Right,” he says, bracing as Kacchan kicks the bag. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: none i don't think?
> 
> btw, there should be one more chap in this arc before the final exams!!! 
> 
> thank you as always for the comments! ik im behind on replying to them, but i'll get to them i swear!
> 
> discord: https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt


	34. training montage, part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku bonds with shinsou and kacchan :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY FOLKS HIHIHIHHI
> 
> sorry again for missing yesterday's update!! i had a ton of fun at my bf's house and now I'm back! here's the final installment of the training montage arc for you :3 next chapter will be final exams!!

It’s a cool, clear night when Izuku is approached by Eraserhead. It’s strange, because as much as Izuku talks to Aizawa, he doesn’t really come up to Izuku as Ace much, not like this. It’s clear from the way he swings himself up to the roof Izuku is crouched on that he’s been looking for Izuku, that he’s been hoping to find him. His capture weapon shines dully in the moonlight, and his goggles glint as he lands beside Izuku, his legs bent slightly.

“Ace,” he says, and he sounds almost relieved. “Where have you been?” Izuku blinks, standing up from his kneeling position and tipping his head to the side slightly.

“What do you mean?” Izuku frowns. “I’ve been out the normal amount, I think.”

“The situation has changed,” Aizawa says. “You need to be more careful.” Something about the low edge to his voice, something in the crook of his brows worries Izuku.

“What happened?” Izuku asks, folding his arms over his chest. “Why is the situation any different now than it was before?” 

Aizawa sighs, low and slow. “You’ve met Avenging Angel,” he says, not a question.

“I have,” Izuku replies anyway. 

“She’s gone missing,” Eraserhead says, turning to look out to the east, where the crescent moon is hanging low in the sky. “She was taken from her hotel during a mission. There were signs of a struggle.” Izuku blinks and bites at his lip, because  _ oh _ , he doesn’t really  _ know _ her, but the picture Aizawa paints is still concerning on its own.

“Do you know who took her?” Izuku asks, and Aizawa shakes his head.

“Ace, you don’t get it,” he hisses. “I’m not asking for your help with this. I’m asking you to  _ stay away _ . Avenging Angel is a trained, licensed hero, and she was taken from a secure location during a secret mission. You are a teenager with no training,” Aizawa says, his voice a growl. Izuku bites at his lower lip. 

“I can use my quirk to try and get information on where she’s being held,” he offers, holding his hands out, palms up. His once-bright red gloves are now stained dark, almost black in places. “The League and the Gekkeiju are still working together. I think it’s likely the Gekkeiju are the ones who have her, based on something I heard earlier. I could--”

“Ace,” Eraserhead cuts him off, pressing a hand to his face. “What part of ‘stay away’ is confusing to you? Are you unable to process the words? Is there some aspect of your quirk that necessitates you being suicidally reckless?” Izuku can’t help but snort out a laugh at that, and as he catches himself, giggles rising in his chest, Aizawa drops his hand from his face. His eyes narrow behind his slitted gold goggles.

“There is,” he says, voice full of a warning, “isn’t there? Oh my god,” he breathes, shaking his head. “You said you have to be in danger for your quirk to work. How  _ much _ danger, exactly, do you have to be in?” Aizawa steps forward, and Izuku steps back. He thinks he sees a flash of red behind the goggles. 

“Uh,” Izuku says, glancing around. “I don’t want to talk about this?” Yeah, Aizawa is  _ definitely  _ activating his quirk, his hair starting to float up in pieces that rise above his head. “Can you turn the Erasure off, please? I-It’s making me nervous.”

Eraserhead frowns. “I’ll turn it off if you explain your quirk to me,” he says, the glint of his red eyes bright in the darkness of the night. Izuku shakes his head, his head beating fast in his chest as he takes another step back.

“No,” Izuku replies, shaking his head again. “I don’t want to.” His breathing feels weird, like it’s stuttering in his throat. He can’t get enough air.

“Why not?” Aizawa asks, confusion and something like worry plain on his face.

“I-I can’t,” Izuku says, his words shaky and full of breath. If he dies with his quirk erased, he  _ dies _ . “Give me my quirk back,  _ please, _ ” he begs, his voice cracking. Aizawa’s brows furrow, dropping low to his goggles, and he drops his quirk, his hair falling around his face. He steps forward, reaching out for Izuku, and Izuku isn’t sure why he’s dizzy all of sudden, but Aizawa guides him into a sitting position on the concrete rooftop with a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Ace?” he says, voice soft. “You’re okay. Take deep breaths.” Izuku blinks, staring at Aizawa’s shadow on the grey concrete, on the rough surface. He doesn’t know why it’s hard to breathe, doesn’t know why he’s freaking out, but he forces himself to suck in a breath of air, and Aizawa nods, rubbing slow circles into his shoulder blade. 

“S-S-Sorry,” Izuku chokes out. “I-I just--”

“It’s okay,” Aizawa says. “You don’t need to explain. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that.” He sighs. “It’s so easy to forget how young you are.”

Izuku swallows. “I-I can use my quirk to help you,” he says, voice still uneven. “Why don’t you want me to help?”

“It’s not your responsibility to help,” Aizawa says, voice still low and soothing. “You shouldn’t put yourself in danger for the sake of others.” Izuku shakes his head, raising a hand to brush away Aizawa’s grip on his shoulder. Aizawa lets him, his hand coming to rest on the concrete between them instead.

“Isn’t that what a hero does?” Izuku asks, voice bitter. “Suffers so other people don’t have to?” He looks away from Aizawa, out toward the city, to the buildings with golden lights shining in some windows, black darkness in others. The stars that twinkle faintly in the navy blue backdrop seem brighter tonight, somehow. 

“No,” Aizawa says, voice clear even though it’s so quiet. “A hero’s job is to prevent suffering, not shoulder the burden themselves.” He sighs. “You remind me of a friend I once had,” he says, almost a whisper. Izuku leans forward, pulls his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them. 

“I do?” Izuku replies, his own voice soft as he sets his chin on the top of one of his knees. 

“Yeah,” Aizawa murmurs. “He passed away a while back.” Izuku blinks, swallows.

“Oh,” he says. “I’m sorry.” Aizawa shrugs, and Izuku can feel the movement through how close they are.

“Don’t be. Just don’t let yourself become another sad story,” Aizawa replies, and Izuku looks over to see that he’s pulled his goggles down to rest around his neck. With the way he’s looking at Izuku, with soft eyes and concern, Izuku almost feels like he’s in class, like he’s Izuku and not Ace. It’s deceptive.

“I’ll try my best,” Izuku replies, sighing and focusing on  _ not _ sounding like Izuku, on not giving himself away any more than his freak out probably already did. “You should let me help this time, though. I won’t be dead in the end.”

“I’m not comfortable asking someone the same age as my students to risk their life for information,” Aizawa replies, and it’s Izuku’s turn to shrug, a smile quirking up the edges of his lips even though he knows Aizawa can’t see it through his mask.

“You’re not asking, I’m offering,” he says, lacing his gloved fingers together where they’re holding his knees. “My quirk--I’ve been calling it Mulligan--it lets me see the future, in certain circumstances. So I could use it to look and see if Avenging Angel shows up in any of the possible futures.”

Aizawa tips his head slightly, frowning. “Mulligan, huh. I thought you needed to be in danger to use it.” He sounds contemplative. “I’d be more comfortable with this if I knew more details about the quirk.”

Izuku chuckles. “You’re not going to be able to find me through a quirk registration,” he says, rolling his eyes. “My quirk is registered as something else entirely.”

“I know,” Aizawa says. “There aren’t any foresight quirk users registered in your age group, much less fitting your description.” Izuku isn’t surprised he’s checked, all things considered.

“I told you, I’m forty-six,” he says, laughter in his voice. Aizawa raises an eyebrow.

“Last time you said fifty-six,” he says, chuckling. Izuku sits back, stretching his legs out in front of him. 

“Mulligan lets me see the future when I’m in mortal danger,” Izuku says, leaning back on his arms and tipping his head back to look up at the sky. “It sort of functions like a danger sensor, too, because I can feel when I can use it. That’s why I got so nervous when you erased it. I had no idea if I was in danger or not,” he explains. The lies come easily, because he’s spent many, many hours designing and analyzing this quirk. It fills multiple pages of a secret notebook, and he’s more than prepared his cover story. It’s almost nice to share it, now.

“Mortal danger,” Aizawa says. “You’re not in mortal danger right now though, are you? But you offered to use it.” Izuku hums in response.

“There’s a loophole for that,” he says, waving a hand. “An exploit. But that’s not important. Mulligan lets me draw cards from a deck of possible futures, so to speak, and each one shows me a potential future that could happen and how to get there,” he says. “It’s only a short distance into the future, and I can only use it about four or five times right now, but it has its uses.” 

Aizawa grunts. “Hm. What happens if you use it more than that?” His tone is too thoughtful for Izuku’s tastes.

“I get a migraine,” Izuku says. “And any more futures I see are less and less fortunate,” he adds in, for good measure. “Kind of useless to get ones that are obviously bad paths to take in the first place, y’know?” He sighs, shifting forward and crossing his legs under him. “So, I could look at a couple of futures, if you want me to. A lot of times, they contain useful information.” 

“You could,” Aizawa says, frowning. “I don’t like the sound of this ‘loophole,’” he says, voice a grumble. Izuku shrugs.

“You don’t have to like it,” he says, ignoring Aizawa’s glare at that comment. “How’s this? I’ll meet you back here in say, an hour,” he hops to his feet, stretching his hands above his head. Aizawa rises slowly beside him. “I’ll use my quirk once or twice, and I’ll let you know if I find anything.” Izuku bounces on his feet, grinning at him and hoping it’s at least semi-visible through the mask. Aizawa sighs, reaching to the goggles at his neck and pulling them up to cover his eyes. It’s easy enough to see his eyes through them at this angle, and the shadow of his face blocks some of the light from the moon, making the gold look almost like a dusty bronze. 

“Fine,” Aizawa says. “But answer one question for me, first.” He folds his arms over his chest, staring Izuku down through his goggles. Izuku tips his head slightly to the side.

“Sure,” he says, even though he can feel his nerves bubbling in his chest just slightly. “What is it?”

“Do you have somewhere to go home to?” Aizawa asks, his voice serious. “Actually, no. Do you have somewhere  _ safe _ to go home to?” His gaze is dark and serious, and Izuku swallows.

“I do,” he answers, voice quiet. “I have a home, and it’s safe.” He doesn’t want to give anything else away, but something warm and fluttery moves in his stomach at the thought that Aizawa worries about him even when he’s not on the streets.

“Good,” Aizawa says, a tension Izuku hadn’t noticed bleeding out of his shoulders. “I’m glad.” His voice is quiet, soft, and Izuku can’t take it anymore.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, even though he has no idea where he’ll reset to. He turns from where Aizawa is still watching him and slips off of the edge of the roof onto the fire escape below. His boots clank against the metal, and he walks down the stairs, his neck prickling like he’s being watched, but he doesn’t turn back to check. 

Izuku weaves through the city, taking the long route to the bar he’d overheard Shigaraki and Leadfoot talking in once, many nights ago. He doesn’t  _ think _ Eraserhead is following him, but he certainly wouldn’t put it past the man to try. It’s only a few blocks away, as is, and it takes him about ten minutes to cross the city and to slip into the alleyway between the bar and the apartment building next door. He wonders, briefly, if that’s part of the League’s operations, too, but he’s distracted by the sound of voices.

“You’re cheating!” Shigraki’s voice shouts, loud and rough. “I’m going to fucking kill you, you fucking lizard ass--”

“Shut up,” another voice, male and unfamiliar says. “I’m not cheating, you just suck.” Izuku presses himself to the wall of the building, his back on the cool stone next to the rickety metal door. If he strains his ears, he can hear the sounds of music and artificial, quiet voices. He narrows his eyes, straining to hear. 

“Shigaraki,” an older voice says. “We’re out of soda.” Izuku knows this voice, has heard it before, but he can't place it, can’t put a name to it.

“Then go get more,” Shigaraki replies, annoyance in his voice. “I’m  _ busy _ , Dabi.”  _ Oh. _ Izuku remembers, now. 

“You’re the one who drank the last one,” Dabi gripes, and Izuku can hear a door slamming from inside the bar. “And playing Mario Kart does  _ not _ count as busy, asshole.” 

“Yes it does,” Shigaraki snaps back at him. Izuku hears a loud sigh from inside, accompanied by footsteps, and he realizes that someone is moving towards the door. He pushes himself off the wall, taking off down the street away from the bar. He thinks he gets away in time, but just in case, he scales a fire escape and throws himself off of it, head first.  _ It can’t hurt to erase any risk _ , he tells himself.

\--

Izuku blinks his eyes open and glances around, seeing a familiar rooftop and an even more familiar figure beside him. He’s at the edge of the roof, looking down to the fire escape below, and when he turns to look at Aizawa, the man raises an eyebrow. 

“You good, kid?” Aizawa asks, folding his arms over his chest. His goggles are on, so this must have been near the end of their conversation. Izuku nods.

“I just used my quirk,” he says, and Aizawa tips his head to the side slightly. “I don’t know about the Gekkeiju, but I don’t think the League has any captives right now. They’re playing video games.” Izuku pauses, chewing on the inside of his lip. “They’ve got new members, though. One of them uses blue fire.” 

“I thought you said you’d be back in an hour,” Aizawa says, but he sounds like he’s thinking more than anything. “New members, huh?”

“Yeah,” Izuku confirms, nodding and stepping away from the edge of the roof. “There’s at least two, but I didn’t hear Kurogiri so I don’t think they were all there, anyway.” He picks at the bottom hem of his hoodie as Aizawa tilts his head.

“What do you mean by hear?” he asks, and there’s no accusation in his tone but Izuku bristles anyway, crossing his arms over his chest in a mirror of Aizawa’s stance.

“I was eavesdropping, in the future I saw,” he says. “You don’t happen to know where any Gekkeiju members are tonight, do you?” he asks, but Aizawa’s shaking his head before he’s even finished.

“No, I don’t. I’m curious to know how you knew where the League would be, though,” he says. A gust of wind, warm and quick blows around them, pushing strands of Aizawa’s long, tangled hair up into the air.

“I’m sure you are,” Izuku says, shrugging. Aizawa sighs, so Izuku explains. “I know at least one of their meeting locations, but I don’t think it’s their main base.”

“Of course you do,” Aizawa sighs, shaking his head. “I’ll just assume that there’s no point in telling you to stay away from villain groups,” he says, scowling. “You have my number already, don’t you? Be sure to use it if you’re in trouble.”

Izuku arches a brow. “What, so you can figure out my civilian identity that way?” He does his best to glare at Aizawa from under his goggles, but he’s pretty sure it doesn’t work. Aizawa doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest.

“No, so I can  _ help _ you if you’re in danger,” Aizawa answers, using the same tone of voice he usually reserves for answering stupid questions in class, slow and exaggerated like what he’s saying is obvious. 

“Sure,” Izuku says, looking away from him. “I’ll call you if I need you to save my life,” he says, even though he knows perfectly well he doesn’t need any help with saving his own life.  _ My quirk will do that for me _ .

“See that you do,” Aizawa replies, tone serious. “Be careful, Ace. Avenging Angel is strong. If they could capture her, capturing you would be easy.”

“Wow, you really have no confidence in my abilities,” Izuku comments, looking back at Aizawa over his shoulder as he walks back to the edge of the roof, bending his knees in preparation for jumping down to the fire escape. “See ya around, Eraser.”

Aizawa doesn’t reply, but Izuku can feel his eyes following him as he jumps from the roof and walks down the fire escape stairs. 

\--

Izuku pushes open the door to the store, the bell at the top of the glass door chiming softly as he steps inside. He hasn’t been back here since that last time, since Miura confronted him, and even though it’s been over a month, anxiety prickles in his chest as the door shuts behind him and he hears footsteps. 

“Hello! How can I--” Miura rushes out of one of the aisles, wearing a violet sundress under her apron. Izuku blinks in surprise when he sees her face, which mirrors the same shock. “Oh, Midoriya! I’d thought I’d scared you away,” she says, raising a hand to rub the back of her head sheepishly and smiling, but Izuku can’t look away from the dark bruising that covers her nose and spreads to the undersides of both of her eyes. There’s a line of white tape on her nose, which is clearly broken, judging from the swelling and the watercolor bruises, and her lip is split in two places, her mouth and jaw bruised as well. Izuku thinks he can see makeup covering some of it, but it’s been rubbed off around her mouth, and as he examines her, he can see bruises on her kneecaps and on her elbows as well as scattered throughout her body.

“M-Miura,” he gasps. “What happened?” The more Izuku looks at her, the more injuries he can see, and under his gaze, Miura shifts uneasily, tugging her dress down so that it covers the bruises on her knees. It doesn’t do much to hide the scrapes and bruises on her knuckles or face, though. 

“I-I fell down the stairs,” she says, glancing to the side. Her dark brown, nearly black eyes don’t meet Izuku’s. “I’m okay, really. It just looks bad because I bruise easy.” 

“Your nose is broken,” Izuku points out, and Miura shrugs, putting a smile back on her face. It looks like it hurts.

“It is, but it’ll heal!” She chirps, shrugging. “What about you? How have you been? I saw you in the sports festival, you were amazing!” her voice brightens more with every word, her smile widening. Izuku blinks.

“O-Oh, I’ve been good!” he answers, shrugging and glancing to the side, his face flushing ever-so-slightly. “You really watched that?” he asks, kind of embarrassed. He’s seen the footage, of course, of him biting people like a wild animal and passing out at the end of his fight with Kacchan. He knows it was what it took for him to win, but some part of him still wishes he could have done it without fighting dirty. 

“I did!” Miura says, nodding. “You didn’t tell me you went to UA.” She bites at her bottom lip for a second, then pauses. “Sorry, I totally forgot to ask. What brings you in today?”

Izuku glances around the store, seeing it mostly the same as before. “I was wondering if you sold throwing knives,” he says, peering down the aisle he knows leads to the knives in general. “I’ve been learning how to use them at school, but I want to be able to practice at home.” And he wants to use them as Ace, but he’s not going to share that with her. 

“Hm,” she hums in response, turning and taking a few steps into the aisle nearest her. “Y’know, I think I’ve got a set that would work for you,” she says, and Izuku follows her as she walks further down the aisle, leading him to a shelf that’s really more of a mess than a display of any kind. She reaches up, pulling down a black case, and tugs off of the shelf. It looks heavy, judging by the way her face twists with the motion, and she sets it on the ground in front of them, crouching down to open it. 

She pulls back the lid of the case, revealing an assortment of knives, all in various sets and bundled together in clear plastic. Izuku blinks as his eyes run over the blades, counting them and realizing there’s at least a dozen  _ sets _ of knives in the case, all of different shapes and sizes and metals, from the looks of it. Miura hums, biting at her lower lip as she sorts through them, pulling out a plastic-wrapped set of identical silvery knives, small and light looking.

“These should work,” she says, passing them over to Izuku. “Give me a sec and I can get you a case for them, too.” Izuku accepts the bundle of knives, feeling the weight of the metal in his palms. He turns the bundle over, counting eight thin knives to the set. Each blade is curved and double sided, with plain silver hilts that have holes in the ends, like they’re meant to be hung on a belt. Izuku supposes they probably are.

“How much are these?” he asks, examining the blades. It’s hard to tell through the wrapping, but they’re clearly very sharp. 

“On the house!” Miura calls back from where she’s disappeared down another aisle. “But you have to do me a favor, okay?”

Izuku frowns. “These look expensive,” he points out. “What kind of favor?” He watches as Miura steps back into the aisle he’s standing in, a red and black case in her hands. She holds it out to him, and he takes it, feeling the armored inside to it.  _ The knives won’t cut through this on accident, that’s for sure. _

“UA is having a summer training camp soon, right?” She asks, and Izuku glances up at her to see her biting at her lip again, the cut on the bottom of it open and bleeding slightly. 

“R-Right,” Izuku confirms, nodding. Aizawa had told them about it only a few days ago, during homeroom.  _ How would she know that, though _ ?

“Be careful,” Miura says, meeting Izuku’s eyes with a serious stare. “Stay with your teachers. Don’t go off on your own. And don’t take any risks,” she says, and there’s something oddly familiar about her voice, something he can’t place.

“I-I’ll be careful,” he says, frowning, his brow furrowing. “Why are you--”

“Don’t ask,” Miura says. “Please. Just look after yourself.” 

“I will,” Izuku replies, confusion swirling in his mind. Even as he leaves the shop, new knives in their case, he can’t shake the feeling that something is horribly wrong. He examines the case, the red and black of it, and it occurs to him that he hadn’t asked for those colors.  _ It could be a coincidence, but _ ... Izuku gives himself a shake.  _ I have bigger things to worry about than Miura. Final exams are coming up _ .

\--

Izuku’s leaning over his desk, his face practically pressed to the wooden surface as he scribbles into the margins of his notes, underlining important information and writing questions to ask his teachers next week in class. He’s only sort of paying attention to the rest of the class as they chit chat, but Kirishima pipes up, nice and loud, and his voice is kind of hard to ignore. 

“Bakugou, can’t you just walk him through it?” Kirishima asks, and when Izuku looks up, he’s sitting in front of Kacchan, leaning forward on his elbows, his chin on one hand. Next to him, Kaminari looks like he’s about to cry, both of his hands fisted in his blonde hair and mussing it up, his face slightly red and his eyes open wide. He’s staring down at his notes.

“If he doesn’t know how to do it at this point, he’s not gonna fucking get it by the exam,” Kacchan snaps. “What did you get, Shitty Hair? Even  _ Deku _ knows how to do this,” he sneers, glancing over his shoulder to where Izuku is staring, his red eyes flitting down to Izuku’s notes, which admittedly don’t contain any unsolved problems. Izuku feels his face start to heat red at being called out, but thankfully he’s saved from having to respond by Kaminari groaning loudly and slamming his face down into the desk.

“It’s over, guys,” he whines, voice muffled by the desk. “I’m gonna flunk out first semester. Just take me out back and put me out of my misery.” Kirishima reaches out and pats him on the back, a sympathetic look on his face.

“You’ll be okay, man,” he says, and Izuku watches Kacchan snort from across the table.

“I’ll blow your head clear off your shoulders if you give up now, Sparky,” he growls, slamming a hand down in front of Kaminari’s head where it’s pressed to the wooden surface.

“Does it really count as putting him out of his misery if it’s such a painful way to go?” Uraraka wonders from beside Izuku. He glances over to her, surprised to see that she’s looked up from her own notes to watch the argument.

“I would imagine being blown up by Bakugou would be one of the worst ways,” Iida muses, and Izuku blinks. Tsuyu nods from next to him.

“They say burning to death is the worst way, ribbit,” she mutters, nodding. “Explosions would be about the same.”

“Yeah, Baku!” Kaminari whines, pulling his head up only to rest it on his arms, still leaned forward on the table. “If you’re gonna kill me, you gotta do it quick and painless.”

Kacchan rolls his eyes. “Do you have any fucking requests?” he asks, voice thick with sarcasm. “I’m sure you’d be in less  _ pain  _ if you studied earlier than the week before exams.” 

“Isn’t hanging the least painful?” Uraraka asks, tipping her head to the side. “I’ve heard that if you snap your neck, you’re alive for about two minutes but there’s no pain.” 

Kirishima nods. “Yeah, I’ve heard that too. I would think getting shot in the head would be about the same, though.” He grimaces. “Not a very manly way to go, though,” he says, and Izuku wonders if they’re talking about suicide or just dying those ways in general.

“I’m probably gonna die from electrocution,” Kaminari says, sitting up completely and tipping his head slightly to the side. “Like, what if someone cancels my quirk and I try to absorb a shock or something? I’d totally die.”

“You’ll probably die falling down the fucking stairs,” Kacchan mutters, and Kaminari blinks, looking affronted.

“Hey!” he protests. “I heard that!” Kacchan arches an eyebrow.

“Yeah, you were fucking meant to,” he answers. “Electrocution would fucking hurt,” he says, eyes narrowing. “It makes your muscles go fucking crazy, and it stops your heart. People shit themselves when they get shocked.”

“It’s actually not that bad,” Izuku says, before he can think twice about it. “Suffocation is by far the worst, I think. Bleeding out would be my pick, I think. Your brain releases a bunch of endorphins at the end, so it actually feels really nice,” he says, the blinks when he realizes everyone’s staring at him. “O-Or so I’ve heard!” he adds quickly, holding his hands up in front of him. “I-I don’t know f-for sure, obviously!”

Kirishima gives him a weird look, one eyebrow raising slightly. “Who’d you hear it from?” he asks. “I’d think bleeding out would seriously suck, you know? You’d get all cold and stuff.”

Iida nods from next to him. “I don’t know about dying, but when I’ve been injured in the past and lost blood, it certainly was not an enjoyable experience,” he comments, his eyes moving slightly to look at Izuku. 

“I-I just read it on some forum,” Izuku says, not meeting any of their eyes and instead looking at the space between Kirishima and Kaminari. “S-So it could just have been, um, made up,” he adds, and Kaminari shrugs.

“Dude, literally  _ any _ way has to be less painful than math class,” he says, voice a groan as he flops onto the desk again. “I’m gonna  _ fail _ .”

“Fucking study if you’re so worried about it, then,” Kacchan growls, and Izuku wants to keep watching their interactions, but he’s distracted when he notices a pair of mismatched eyes watching him. He glances over to see Todoroki staring at him from across the room, his brows furrowed slightly and a hint of a frown on his face. Izuku gives him a small, shaky smile and turns back to his notes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: none
> 
> discord: https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt
> 
> i hope you enjoyed!!! ill get to comments soon-ish i promise, im a little behind on homework rn rip
> 
> next up is the final exam arc, which should take about 2-3 chapters and then it's the summer training camp! this story is divided into three "superarcs," the first of which is from the beginning of the story up until they move into the dorms, so we're very close to the end of the first superarc! im really really excited :D


	35. final exams, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: ace gets told to stop being dumb by eraserhead, izuku buys some knives from miura who is injured, and then he talks about the best ways to die!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HIIIIII this chapter was hard to write at first and then?? it ended up being a BLAST to write in certain parts which i live for
> 
> i hope u enjoy!!!

On the last day of final exams, Izuku already wants to die by the time lunch ends, and he hasn’t even taken the practical exam yet. It’s probably because the hero ethics test was right  _ before _ lunch, and out of all of the written tests, it’s the one Izuku has been most worried for. It’s the class Aizawa teaches, and Izuku is almost certain at this point that Aizawa considers making students cry during exams his personal calling. Maybe. Izuku isn’t sure if it’s just his class, but he knows for sure that Kaminari and Hagakure cried too, so at least he’s not the only one. 

The test had been  _ hard _ , going into detail and asking for so many written answers, and Izuku’s hand is still sore from writing even as he walks out of the lunchroom with Uraraka, Iida, Todoroki, and Tsuyu at his sides. He’s starting to wish he’d taken lunch on the roof or in Aizawa’s office, but he didn’t really want to face Aizawa after crying over his exam, and it’s uncomfortably warm out, so the mess hall seemed like his only real option. 

It’s not that he doesn’t love his friends, really. He likes their company most of the time, but with the way Uraraka keeps talking about the upcoming exam and the way Todoroki is definitely watching him out of the corner of his eyes, it’s a little much for him right now. His eyes are still a little raw from wiping them on his sleeve so much, so when they get to the locker rooms to change for heroics, it’s almost a relief to slip into a bathroom stall and finally, finally be  _ alone _ .

Izuku probably shouldn’t take a second to just stand there, heels of his palms pressed to his closed eyes, the warmth of his skin seeping into his eyelids and soothing the achy just-cried feeling, but he does. There’s something calming about standing in a bathroom stall and just listening to the chatter in the rest of the locker room, just hearing his friends talking and laughing without actually being able to make out the words or having to reply, to put a face on and act like he’s not about to cry just with fear about this stupid practical exam. Mirio had told him it’d be okay, that the test was fair, but the thing is, Izuku’s the  _ first _ quirkless student at UA. The test might be designed to be fair to those students with quirks they can actually use during the exam itself, but would it be fair to him? Even if he used his quirk, how was that  _ fair? _ As much as Izuku doesn’t mind dying to save others from pain, it’s exhausting. He doesn’t want to have to kill himself just to pass a class. 

Izuku can’t help it, really, when a fresh sob rises in his chest. It’s a sinking feeling when he realizes he’s starting to cry again, because he doesn’t really have anything to cry over. It’s stupid. He hasn’t even  _ taken _ the test, and here he is, chest shaking and throat tight and his hands pressed too-tight into his eyes. He tries not to make any noise when he breathes in, but the shaky sound in his breath is too much, and he just holds his breath instead, letting the sobs die quietly in between his ribs and his collarbone. He doesn’t want to be known as the crybaby Deku, like he’s always been, even if that’s already his reputation here too, kind of. It’s different when he’s crying over something as stupid as a test that he might  _ pass _ , that might even be  _ easy _ for him. 

And it’s not even like this is unfair to him, really. Sure, he might have to use his quirk, but shouldn’t he be grateful to  _ have _ a quirk? Shouldn’t he just get over himself and stop whining? Izuku knows,  _ knows _ other people’s quirks hurt them, too. Aizawa’s eyes are red. Todoroki’s afraid of his left side. When Kacchan’s quirk first came in, he’d exploded himself so many times that Izuku lost count. Uraraka’s quirk makes her sick. So what does Izuku think makes him so special? Why does he think it’s different, when it’s him? 

Izuku leans his back against the wall of the bathroom stall, and he drags his hands down his face, pulling too hard at the skin there. He stares at the floor, shadowed in the dim light, and he realizes he’s dropped his costume on the floor. His face feels wet, even with his hands now resting on his cheeks instead of his eyes, and he feels dizzy.  _ Probably because I’m still holding my breath _ , he thinks, and he snorts out a quiet laugh that quickly turns into a sob that’s too loud, far too loud, edging into a whimper at the end. Izuku moves his right hand to put the crook of his forefinger and thumb into his mouth, biting down on it, hard. He tastes something salty, maybe tears or sweat or blood. Someone knocks on the door of the bathroom stall, quick and sharp.

“Midoriya?” It’s Ojiro’s voice, surprisingly. “Are you in there?” Izuku hears whispering, outside the door. Ojiro isn’t alone, but Izuku doesn’t know who else is there.

“Mmhmm,” Izuku hums around his hand. The meat of his hand hurts, burns. When he tightens his jaw, digs his teeth in, he’s surprised that it makes it hurt less, somehow. He’s breathing around it, but only a little bit, his breath wet and hot and catching in his throat every few seconds. 

“Can you open the door?” Ojiro asks, and Izuku thinks he can hear concern in his voice. Izuku shakes his head, the motion stinging his hand, but then he realizes that they can’t see him doing that, so he just kind of... whimpers a no, a pathetic sound that makes him cringe. The whispering outside the door picks up again.

“Midoriya,” Todoroki says, and _ oh, of course it’s him _ , “if you don’t open the door, Ojiro is going to get Aizawa-sensei.” From his tone of voice, Izuku can tell that Todoroki isn’t fond of the idea of getting their teacher. Izuku also knows from experience that Todoroki _ will _ break the door down if Izuku doesn’t open it, so he does, pulling his hand from his mouth and tucking it in his armpit, between his blazer and his button down, the fabric rough and uncomfortable on the swollen skin. Izuku reaches his other hand out and unlatches the stall door, watching as it swings out, then is  _ yanked _ open. There’s something desperate and relieved on Todoroki’s face when he steps back, pulling the door out of the way, and Izuku is glad that it’s just Todoroki and Ojiro staring back at him.

“Hey man, it’s okay,” Ojiro says, his brows creased in concern. “What happened?” He reaches a hand out, setting it carefully, slowly on Izuku’s shoulder, tugging him out of the cramped bathroom stall and into the little hallway that connects the locker room and the bathroom stalls together. Izuku’s still crying, he knows, but it seems quieter in the larger space, and even though there are tears running down his face, it’s easier to speak.

“I-I’m just--” he hiccups, then swallows. “I-I’m gonna  _ fail _ ,” he mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut so that he doesn’t have to see how they’re going to react when they realize how pathetic he’s being. He feels a sob shudder its way up his throat and he  _ hates  _ it, hates that he’s crying over something so stupid when he’s been through so much worse. It’s because he isn’t looking that when warm arms and a soft tail grab him, tugging him into a hug, he’s almost surprised. He opens his eyes just to see Ojiro’s costume, the plain white martial arts uniform soft against the rubbed-raw skin of his face. 

“It’s okay,” Ojiro says, softly. “Todoroki, there was blood in his mouth,” Ojiro says, quieter, over Izuku’s head. “His hand.” Izuku doesn’t see what happens next, just staring at clean white fabric, but he feels a pair of warm hands carefully extract his hand from where he’s tucked it into his clothes. There’s a moment’s pause, a soft finger running along the swollen, irritated skin, and then Izuku feels one of the hands go cold, just a step warmer than ice, and he sighs in relief as it numbs the pain he hadn’t even noticed. 

“He bit it,” Todoroki murmurs, and Izuku nods into Ojiro’s shirt.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and Ojiro gives him a gentle squeeze. 

“It’s okay man, we’re all stressed out with the exams. It’s okay to be upset,” Ojiro says, voice gentle. “You really shouldn’t bite yourself, though. You’ve got some serious biting power.” 

Izuku huffs out a shaky laugh. “Comes with practice,” he murmurs, and Ojiro snorts, patting him gently on the head. Izuku pulls back, wiping the tears away from his face with his sleeve, and Ojiro releases him, letting him pull back. Todoroki’s grip on his hand tightens when Izuku tries to tug it back, though, and Izuku glances over to see Todoroki staring down at the wound, his eyes narrowed and his face thoughtful. Izuku can see the wound, too, and it’s really not that bad, just red and puffy and swollen with the indents of Izuku’s teeth. It looks like he’d broken the skin where his canine teeth dug into the flesh, but not anywhere else. There’s a thin layer of mist around the wound, where Todoroki’s right hand must be cooling it. Izuku looks over to Todoroki, smiles at him.

“Sorry, Todoroki,” he says, and Todoroki looks up at him, brows creased slightly. “I’m okay now, really. I was just freaking out a little.” His smile feels shaky, and Todoroki nods, slowly, his eyes dropping back down to the bite mark. 

“Do the teachers know you get testing anxiety?” Ojiro asks, his eyes on the bite mark, on the hand that Todoroki is still holding. 

“I-I don’t,” Izuku says, and he doesn’t have to look up at Ojiro’s face to know he’s raising an eyebrow. 

“Right,” Ojiro says, “you should tell them, sometime. It’s kind of their job to help with that kind of thing.” He says it so confidently, like that’s just how it goes. Like teachers have helped him with that kind of thing. Like they’d help Izuku with that kind of thing. Izuku doesn’t want to fight, though, doesn’t want to explain to Ojiro that when you’re quirkless, teachers  _ don’t _ help, so he just nods. Ojiro takes a step back, and Izuku turns to Todoroki again.

“C-Can I have my hand back?” he asks, tentatively, and Todoroki’s gaze snaps up to him before he drops Izuku’s hand, red tinting slightly red. Todoroki stares for a moment, mismatched eyes looking at Izuku, then he frowns, just slightly.

“You don’t need to hide when you’re upset,” Todoroki says. “You have friends who care about you. We want to help.” His gaze flickers meaningfully to the bathroom stall behind Izuku. “Things feel worse when you’re alone,” he says, and  _ oh _ , Izuku thinks he might be talking about himself a little bit, too, but Izuku’s not going to say that right now. 

“It’s embarrassing, though,” Izuku mumbles, looking at his hand, at the red indents in the swollen skin. “We’re all taking the same exams, but I’m the only one crying in the bathroom about it.”

Ojiro snorts. “Dude, Kaminari was crying in the locker room like, five minutes ago. You’re definitely not the only one who’s upset about it.” He sighs, a soft smile on his face. “Plus, it wouldn't matter even if you were. I’m sure everyone would rather know about it then have you do that to yourself,” he waves at Izuku’s hand, and Izuku nods, looking down at the floor and flushing red. 

“R-Right,” he murmurs. “I, um. I still have to change,” he says, quietly. 

“You have time,” Todoroki says. “I’ll wait for you.” He smiles at Izuku, a faint, gentle sort of smile, and Izuku smiles back, nodding.

“Okay,” he says. “Thank you. Both of you,” he says, glancing at Ojiro, who just shrugs and rubs at the back of his neck.

“It’s really not a problem,” he says, glancing to the side. “It’s what friends are for, right?” Izuku nods, his smile growing wider, and he ducks back into the bathroom stall.

\--

“You’ll be put in pairs,” Aizawa says, voice sounding low and bored. He’s standing in front of them, a packet of paper held in his hands. “And each pair will face off against one of the teachers.” He looks up at the group, his eyes glancing over each student. Izuku swallows when their eyes meet, for just a second. 

“You’ll all be going at the same time so that we don’t end up going all day, but you’ll be able to watch footage of the others’ matches after, if you want,” Aizawa mumbles, flipping the page over. “You pass if you get out of your assigned fighting ring or either one of you capture your assigned teacher using the capture tape that’ll be provided. You’re all evaluated individually, so if your partner is the only reason you capture the teacher or escape, you’ll still fail,” he looks up over the paper. “Any questions before I tell you your groups?” The class buzzes with murmurs, but only Iida raises his hand. Aizawa nods to him.

“Sir, if we fail the exam, we’re not allowed to go on the summer training camp trip, correct?” Iida asks, waving his hands as he speaks. Aizawa nods.

“Correct. Those who fail the exam will not be allowed to go on the camping trip with the rest of you.” He glances over the group. “Any other questions?” He waits, but not for long. Izuku glances around, but nobody raises their hands.

“Yaoyorozu and Todoroki,” Aizawa says, and Izuku feels Todoroki stiffen where he’s standing next to him. “You two will be fighting me. Ojiro and Asui, you’ll be against All Might. Bakugou and Tokoyami, Ectoplasm. Midoriya and Kaminari, Nezu,” Aizawa keeps talking, keeps reading off names, but Izuku doesn’t pay attention, twisting his torso to look around at Kaminari, who’s leaned back and staring at Izuku. When their eyes meet, Kaminari gives him a thumbs up and a smile, but he looks nervous. Izuku isn’t much better, but he gives Kaminari a shaky smile in return, anway. 

“That’s everyone,” Aizawa says, sighing and lowering the paper. “If you go outside, your assigned teacher will be waiting in front of the area that’s been prepared for you to use. Yaoyorozu and Todoroki, you can just follow me.” He turns on his heels, walking toward the door, and Izuku blinks as the class starts to move, starts to filter out the door and into the bright sunlight outside. Izuku stays behind. 

“Hey man,” Kaminari says, stepping over to stand at Izuku’s side. “Nezu, huh?” He chuckles nervously. 

“Y-Yeah,” Izuku replies, swallowing. “I-I’m sorry,” he adds, almost an afterthought. Kaminari frowns, tilting his head slightly to the side. 

“Wait, what for?” Kaminari asks, squinting slightly. 

Izuku shrugs, looks at the ground. “You got paired with the quirkless guy,” he says. His sneakers are a bright, bright red against the ground. “Sorry.”

“What?” Kaminari’s startled laugh surprises Izuku, and he glances up to see Kaminari with a confused smile on his face and one eyebrow raised. “Dude, you’re like, one of the smartest people in the class. That’s gonna be way more help than a quirk would be when we’re up against the principal, right?” Kaminari gives him a thumbs up, tipping his head to the side and grinning. “We’ve got this, Midoriya.”

Izuku presses his own lips into a shaky smile. “Right!” He nods, and Kaminari returns the motion before stepping forward, out into the sunlight. Izuku follows him, his legs shaking ever so slightly in his costume pants. The light is bright, almost blinding, but his vision clears after a few seconds, his eyes adjusting to the change in light. He follows Kaminari, even though he can see Nezu where the small man (animal? Man? Izuku doesn’t know which to think of him as) is standing with his hands folded behind him, in front of a fenced off area that Izuku’s never seen before.  _ They must have built little arenas just for the exam _ , he realizes. 

It’s a cityscape of some kind, with buildings that are tall and neat and  _ climbable _ , the kind of thing that Izuku is used to, but between the buildings, further in, he thinks he can see what looks like a construction site, with I-beams and a bulldozer and a couple of other machines. Izuku’s not sure he likes the idea of their principal in one of those, but, well, he supposes he doesn’t have much of a choice, does he?

“Hello, boys,” Nezu says as they approach, his lips quirking up into a smile. He’s shorter than them, and Izuku can’t help but feel a little awkward as he looks down at the principal. 

“H-Hello, sensei,” Izuku replies. Kaminari nods beside him.

“Hi!” he says, sounding at least as nervous as Izuku is. “So, uh, we’re in there?” Kaminari points to the arena behind Nezu, and the principal nods.

“Mhmm!” he hums, turning and walking into the arena. “I’m the one who requested you two be paired up against me, you know,” he says, voice pleasant and light. “I thought it’d be interesting, since you, Kaminari, are at the bottom of the class and you’re quirkless, Midoriya. If I’d been born human, there’s a good chance I’d have been assumed to just be quirkless and above average intelligence, you know? So it’ll be a battle of intelligence versus quirk power.” He looks back over his shoulder, his dark eyes narrowed. “I’m quite excited for the chance to play the villain in this little exercise, I must admit.” Izuku can't help the shiver that runs up his spine, cold and dark. 

“H-Hey, Midoriya?” Kaminari nudges him with an elbow. “Is it just me, or is this guy actually really scary?” Izuku nods and swallows.  _ He’s right, though. His quirk just makes him smarter than average, but it doesn’t give him any exceptional powers. I’m not  _ that _ intelligent, but I don’t think I’m stupid, necessarily, and Kaminari _ ... Izuku decides to reserve judgement on his classmate’s intelligence until they’ve started. Izuku remembers him being pretty useful during the USJ attack, so he doesn’t think he’ll be too bad. Grades don’t indicate intelligence; Izuku knows that.

“Alright then, boys,” Nezu says as they step into the mock construction site. “You’ve been briefed on the terms of this exercise, I assume? Escape or capture me and you win, get knocked out or run out of time and you lose. It’s fairly simple, really.” Nezu steps up onto a step that leads to the seat of what looks like a bulldozer, the machine’s bright orange paint flaked and chipped around the large scoop on its front, exposing silver-grey metal. Izuku doesn’t like the look of it, not at all. 

“I’ll give you to the count of ten,” Nezu says, his eyes narrowing. He reaches into his pocket and then up to his face, sliding a microphone onto his face, complete with an earpiece. “This’ll make it easier for you to hear me. One,” he starts counting and Izuku startles, grabbing Kaminari by his elbow and pulling him out of sight quickly, jogging and leading him behind the nearest building.

“Oh my god,” Kaminari whispers. “We’re going to die,” he says just as Izuku hears a loud crash from the other side of the building. “It hasn’t even been ten seconds!” Kaminari whimpers, and Izuku bites at his lower lip. 

“Okay,” Izuku murmurs. “Your quirk is best suited to close range combat so you can shock someone without frying yourself, right?” Kaminari nods, blinking. “That’s probably why Nezu chose this set up,” Izuku mumbles, bringing a hand to his chin. “You could almost disable the bulldozer by shocking it, but I bet you would end up overusing your quirk. I think our best bet has to be escaping, then.”

Kaminari nods quickly. “Whatever you think is best, man!” He shrugs, eyes wide. “I have no freakin’ idea how I would do this without you! I woulda just charged in and hoped for the best.” Izuku bites his lip, because the image of Kaminari shocking the entire clearing makes him anxious even if it’s not happening. 

“Can you climb buildings?” Izuku asks. “If we jump from roof to roof, it’ll be hard for Nezu to get us with that bulldozer. It would take him more time to knock buildings over than it would to just drive after us.” Kaminari gives him an incredulous look.

“Are you kidding? I can’t climb buildings, I--” Kamianri says, but he’s cut off by the sounds of tires crunching on loose gravel, and Izuku glances up to see Nezu turning the corner in a frankly terrifying construction vehicle, that massive bulldozer he’d crawled into earlier. Izuku curses under his breath.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” he says, tugging Kaminari after him as he starts to move away from the bulldozer. “We’re just going to run!” 

“That’s it?!” Kaminari cries, running after Izuku. “He’s in a car, dude! He’s faster than us!”

“Do you have a better idea?” Izuku shouts back at him. He spots a building in front of him, mostly smooth concrete and stone, but this one at least has a fire escape on it. “Copy my moves,” he says and launches himself onto the first floor fire escape, his fingers stinging as they dig into the metal and he hauls himself up. He starts to run up the stairs, but he doesn’t hear any step following after him, and when he reaches the second story of the fire escape and looks down, he sees Kaminari still on the ground, fumbling with the locked gate leading to the stairs onto the ground. Izuku bites his lip, hissing.

“Kaminari, climb the gate!” he shouts. “It’s just like a chain link fence! It’ll hold your weight,” he calls, and Kaminari looks up at him with wide eyes. He’s only frozen for a moment, but he’s facing away from the street they’d just run down, so Izuku’s the only one who can see Nezu barrelling down the street, straight for them. Izuku shakes his head and braces himself, throwing himself from the second story fire escape and landing crouched on the ground without a second thought. He’s on his feet in another heartbeat, grabbing onto the back of Kaminari’s costume jacket and yanking him out of the way of the bulldozer just as it rams into the fire escape entrance, crushing and bending the metal right where Kaminari had been moments before. 

“Holy shit,” Kaminari breathes, eyes wide. “You just--” Izuku cuts him off.

“There’s no time,” he snaps, pulling Kaminari as he starts to run toward the exit. “We have to get some distance between him and us,” Izuku says, and as he glances over his shoulder, he can see Nezu back out of the fire escape and turn his bulldozer back towards the two students, an evil gleam in his beady eyes. 

“Kaminari, Midoriya,” Nezu says, his voice sing-song and light. “I’m disappointed, you know. Can’t you come up with anything more creative?”

“Like what?” Izuku mutters under his breath as he yanks Kaminari into an alleyway. 

“We could try and ambush him?” Kaminari says, whispering. “If I touch his bulldozer and go off, the shock should travel to him, too, right?”

Izuku bites his lip. “Maybe. It’s risky. If it doesn’t work, there’s a good chance you’ll become dead weight.”

“But even if it doesn’t knock him out, it’ll shut down his bulldozer,” Kaminari says. “It’s worth a shot,” he says, meeting Izuku’s eyes with a serious look on his face.

“If it doesn’t work, I’ll just try again,” Izuku murmurs, and he ignores when Kaminari opens his mouth, probably to ask about that. “Fine. I’ll draw him out, and you grab onto something metal and discharge, okay? You shouldn’t need your full power. It’s the amperage that knocks people out, not the voltage. Metal is relatively low resistance, so it should be okay with half.”

“Wow dude, you’re seriously smart,” Kaminari says. “Okay. Will you give me a signal when it’s time?”

Izuku grimaces. “I’ll let you know,” he says. “You ready?” he asks, and Kaminari nods, his head bobbing up and down. Izuku takes a deep breath, steadying himself, and he runs out of the alleyway, hands clenched into fists and pumping at his sides as he runs. 

He doesn't have to look to see Nezu’s approach, but he does anyway, his vision focusing on the bulldozer as it fast approaches him. Izuku braces, crouching down slightly as Nezu drives towards him, then at the last second he jumps, dodging the sharp bottom edge of the scoop as it pushes forward at him. Instead of being knocked over by it, he lands in the scoop itself, and Nezu’s cackling plays over the intercom as the scoop rises, bringing Izuku higher and higher into the air.  _ It’s now or never _ , Izuku thinks as it reaches its highest point, and Izuku leaps from the scoop, pulling his knives from his hidden compartments in his arm guards. He hisses at the shock of the impact when he crashes into the side of the nearest building, his knives digging into the concrete  _ just _ enough to hold him. 

“Now, Kaminari!” he shouts, unable to turn around to see what happens. He hears a large buzzing noise along with a  _ bang _ that makes him itch to turn and look, but he’s more concerned with not falling. It’s a close call, but the knives he’s holding in each hand support him just long enough for him to swing his legs into one of the windows on the faux building. Thankfully, none of the windows seem to have actual glass in them, and it’s easy enough for Izuku to pull his entire body into the building and turn around, frantically assessing the scene in front of him. 

“Oh, oops!” Nezu says, and Izuku’s heart sinks in his chest. He sees Kaminari, limp and quiet on the ground beside the bulldozer, which looks to still be fully operational. Nezu has something in his hands, and it takes Izuku a moment to process that the principal is holding a  _ gun, _ a pistol. Izuku blinks.

“What, did you think you’d be the only one given weapons? Don’t make me laugh!” Nezu giggles. “It’s just a rubber bullet, don’t look so concerned. Although, I do think Kaminari used his quirk a little too much when I hit him. Poor thing.” Nezu does not sound sorry at all. In fact, Izuku thinks he’s having a little too much fun. 

“Does that mean I’m allowed to throw knives at you?” Izuku calls back in response, and Nezu laughs, throwing his head back and grabbing the controls of the bulldozer with one hand, the handgun in his other. The bulldozer lurches forward, the motor growling, and Izuku grits his teeth, leaping back from the window just as the vehicle slams into the wall, crushing it to dust and widening the window into a gaping hole in the structure.

“Sure, but I doubt you’ll hit,” Nezu replies, and Izuku knows better to stick around. He turns and starts to run, his hands still gripping his knives. He hates the way he hears the gunshot before he feels the rubber bullet hit his calf, a bloom of pain that makes him wince and sends him to his knees on the floor of the building. His knives clatter across the floor, loud and echoing in the concrete building. Izuku hisses, whipping around, his movements slowed by the pain in his leg. He sees Nezu step out of the bulldozer, sees him crawl neatly on all fours from the cabin of the machine and across its windshield and scoop into the hole he’d made in the wall. 

“Fuck,” Izuku swears under his breath, suddenly really understanding why Kacchan likes to curse so much as he launches himself out of the window on the opposite side of the building from Nezu. It’s not a smart move, not with the fact that he’s definitely on the third floor of this building, but he manages to land in a sloppy roll that contains the damage from the fall to just his right shoulder, which cracks painfully. Izuku lurches to his feet and  _ runs _ , grabbing at his shoulder with his left hand.  _ Dislocated _ , his brain supplies, and then he hears another gunshot. This bullet hits him in the center of his back, and he falls face first into the ground, the loose gravel scraping against his cheek. Izuku starts to struggle to his feet, but Nezu stops him.

“Stay down, Midoriya,” he says, his tone firm but not unkind. “It’s over. You’re a little too injured for me to be comfortable continuing this, and in any case, I think it’s clear that you two have failed.” He sighs, and Izuku turns over onto his back, propping himself with his good arm, and he sees the principal standing in the window of the building Izuku’d just jumped out of, a smoking gun in his hand.

“We failed?” Izuku mumbles, his mouth feeling like it's full of marbles. “That’s it? We failed?”

Nezu sighs. “Yes, well, the point of these exams is less to actually have you beat the requirements and ‘win’ and more to see you overcome a shortcoming of yours, you see? For Kaminari, that would be to use his head and not just rely on his powerful but poorly controlled quirk to win. For you, on the other hand...” Nezu smiles. “As useful as fighting dirty and doing whatever it takes to win is, I’m certainly not the only teacher to notice that you often get injured in the process. All of the training and all of the smarts in the world won’t stop you from dying in the field if your first instinct is always to put yourself in danger.” He fiddles with the handgun, flipping the safety on before stashing it in a concealed holster, hidden under his suit jacket. “Take when you were on the fire escape, for example. If you had time to jump down and move him, surely you also had time to simply  _ tell _ Kaminari to move?” 

“But, I--” Izuku starts but Nezu cuts him off with a wave of his paw. 

“No buts!” he says, chuckling. “You’re a smart boy, Midoriya. But you don’t trust others, and more importantly, you don’t trust your own skills. Next time you have to do an exercise like this, keep that in mind.” 

“R-Right,” Izuku says, feeling distant. “Next time.” 

“Indeed!” Nezu says, chuckling. “Well then, why don’t you head on over to Recovery Girl and get that shoulder checked, hmm? I’ll gather up Kaminari and catch up with you. You look like you’re in pain!” Izuku nods, dully. He pulls himself to his feet, staring at the ground, at the gravel there. He wonders how he should kill himself.

He walks out of the ring, not looking back, not listening. His shoulder and calf ache with every step, and he can feel his pulse pounding in his arm, the swelling already building up in his dislocated shoulder making the whole limb feel heavy and hot. Izuku steps out of the arena area, away from the other students who have finished. He hears someone call his name, but he doesn’t answer. He walks, slow even steps, until he’s in the hallway of the building, until he’s in the locker room. It’s empty. Quiet.

Izuku goes to one of the showers, since there’s a drain in it. He sits on the floor, even though there’s water on the white tile, cool and still. It soaks into the bottom of his costume, mixing with the concrete dust there and making a thing, pale mud. Izuku rolls up his sleeves. He stares at his arms, at the scars and cuts near his elbows, at the smooth, tanned skin between his cuts and his wrists. He wonders if he could cut lower down, now that he’s always wearing long sleeves anyways.  _ Maybe not. This way, I can roll my sleeves up at least a bit _ .

He draws a knife from his belt sheath, a normal one and not one of the throwing ones. The throwing knives the support department gave him aren’t even part of his costume, yet. Aizawa doesn’t know he’s Ace, doesn’t know he uses them at night, so he doesn’t know how good Izuku’s gotten with them. Izuku wonders if, if he tried hard enough, he could slice clear through his arm, between the two bones of his forearm. He presses the blade to his right wrist and tries his best.

The blood rushes out quickly, so quickly, and the pain is grounding. Normally, Izuku’d slash both wrists, but he doesn’t think his right arm is strong enough to hold the blade, not between the deep gash in it and the dislocated shoulder. Instead, he holds the blade in his left hand and stretches his legs out in front of him, digging the knife into the space where his leg joins to his body, where he knows the femoral artery to be. He doesn’t think he gets it, not with the way the blood doesn’t pump, doesn’t rush out like it is from his wrist, but he’s definitely gotten down to muscle at least. Maybe he’ll get to the artery if he keeps digging, keeps slashing the inside of the wound. Blood sprays up from it when he hits  _ something _ , and Izuku watches it spatter along the inside of the tiled wall with blurry vision. 

He doesn’t have long left, he knows, so he lets the knife drop to the ground with a clatter. He wishes he’d turned the shower on, because he can hear the exact second when someone else steps into the locker room, and he  _ knows _ they can smell the blood, can hear him gasping for breath. It doesn’t matter, because he can already see black edging his vision, but he hates the idea that someone might have to see again. The curtain blocking the shower is pushed open, and Izuku tilts his head up to see Todoroki, because of  _ course _ it’s Todoroki, mismatched eyes wide. Izuku smiles at him as he loses consciousness, everything fading into a swirl of black and white and red. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: self harm, graphic suicide, guns
> 
> discord: discord: https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt
> 
> also i may be sharing some SUPER cool art from someone in the server soon!!!!! it's amazing frankly im so hyped! 
> 
> tysm as always for all of the super nice comments!!! they really do make my day <3


	36. final exams, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku starts the final exam with him and kaminari v nezu, then he kmses violently and todoroki sees AGAIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is shorter than usual AND it sucks like damn pick a struggle?? anyway i hope u enjoy my high definition torturing of our little green bean

Izuku opens his eyes to that construction site, to that brightly lit clearing with Nezu in front of him, a sly smile on his face. He’s on the first step up to that bulldozer from before, the shiny silver stairs leading to the cabin glimmering in the sun. His paw is up by his ear, and Izuku knows what he’s about to say even as he starts to say it.

“This’ll make it easier for you to hear me,” Nezu says, then starts counting. Izuku doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t wait to run forward, unsheathing both of the knives on his belt and rushes at the wheels of the bulldozer.

“Kaminari!” Izuku shouts as he buries a knife in the closest tire. “We need to disable the vehicles, then disarm him. There’s no way he doesn’t have a weapon,” he says, and when Kaminari jogs up to him, Izuku passes him a knife, hilt first. He yanks his own knife up out of the tire, air rushing out of the gash in the thick black material. It smells like rubber, like coal and tar and something chemical-sharp, but Izuku doesn’t hesitate, running to the next wheel as Kaminari nods, taking the knife Izuku’d given him and going around to the other side of the bulldozer. Izuku hears Nezu giggling above them as he counts. 

“Five,” he calls out, and Izuku glances up to see the man settling into the seat of the bulldozer. Izuku wonders, briefly, why he’d sit in the bulldozer even with them disabling the wheels. Izuku stabs his knife into the next wheel, hearing the satisfying hiss of air as it pops and he yanks the knife out, turning to face Nezu.

“Eight,” Nezu says, reaching his hand into his coat. Izuku grimaces and whips around, running to Kaminari and grabbing the boy’s shoulder, pulling him away from the bulldozer. 

“He’s got a gun,” Izuku breathes, leading them out of the clearing and behind the nearest building. “He won’t have real bullets, so we might be able to tank a couple of hits, but we can’t let him guide this battle. We have to disarm him, and  _ fast _ .” 

“How do you know he’s got a gun?” Kaminari asks, brows furrowed. “ _ Why _ would he have a gun? We’re, like, children!” Kaminari shakes his head, frowning.

“It just makes sense,” Izuku says. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’ll distract him. You sneak up from behind and shock him, okay?” Kaminari stares at him incredulously, his left eye twitching. 

“How on earth am I going to sneak up on him?” Kaminari asks. “He’s like, a dog, right? Doesn’t he have super good hearing?” 

“I think he’s actually a rat,” Izuku answers, distractedly. “I’ll try to keep his attention, but make sure you don’t make yourself go stupid if he shoots you. Getting shot is startling.”

“Interesting,” Nezu’s voice startles Izuku, and he jumps back instinctively, Kaminari doing the same next to him. “You seem to know exactly what’s happening, Midoriya.” Izuku clenches his jaw as he steps back, putting himself between Kaminari and Nezu, holding his knives up in front of him. 

“Kaminari,” Izuku hisses, and Kaminari squeaks behind him. “The plan.” He jerks his head to the side, hoping that Kaminari gets the idea. He hears footsteps behind him, quick and light, so he thinks he did. Izuku gets into a fighting stance, gritting his teeth, and he ducks forward just as Nezu raises his arm, pointing the pistol at Izuku. Izuku strikes out at his paw with the blade of his knife, his wrist twisting and slicing into Nezu’s arm. The gun clatters to the floor, but Nezu seems unfazed.

“You knew I had a gun, didn’t you, Midoriya? And you knew I only had rubber bullets, hmm?” He takes a step forward, holding out his arm and examining the cut there. Bright red blood drips from the wound, staining his white fur a dark red. 

Izuku hisses and darts forward, moving to strike out with one knee. Nezu hums, dodging the strike easily, with a step to the side. He doesn’t even blink. 

“You know, I’ve thought there was something strange about you from the beginning, Midoriya. This has really helped me put it all together, though.” Nezu grins, teeth sharp and bright white in his mouth. “So, what is it, then? Can you see the future? Or are you reading my mind? Oh, or is it an analysis quirk, like mine?” He chuckles, his eyes dark. “It’s impressive that you’ve managed to keep it hidden so long, really. But did you think you’d be able to get away with being quite so obvious?”

Izuku swallows, shaking his head. “I-I don’t--I don’t have a-anything, l-l-like that, sir. I--” His breath catches in his throat as Nezu raises an eyebrow, a little smile still on his lips. 

“Don’t you, though?” Nezu asks, tipping his head slightly to the side. “I’m honestly a little embarrassed that it took me until now to notice that you had a quirk all along, Midoriya.” Izuku bites his lip, but steps back, seeing a flash of blonde hair behind the principal. Izuku watches as Kaminari grins, setting both of his hands on the principal’s shoulders. His quirk ripples up, a wave of bright, crackling gold that Izuku has to squint against, the light burning his eyes. 

Izuku steps back, eyes still wide as the principal drops to the ground, his fur poofing up with static and a few wayward sparks popping off of his body. Izuku’s just frozen there, his arms shaking at his sides as Kaminari crouches down, deftly wrapping the white capture tape around the principal’s little wrists and glancing up at Izuku, grinning brightly.

“We did it, dude!” He gives Izuku a thumbs up. “Now I guess we just wait until he wakes up?” He glances down at the principal and chuckles nervously. “I, uh, I might have overdone it a little.” The principal groans from the ground, opening one dark eye and smiling slightly.

“Good job, boys! You both pass.” He coughs, looking a little embarrassed. “Now, could you untie me? I’d like to fix this situation with my fur,” he says, glancing down at himself. Izuku would laugh at it, at the way he’s puffed up to twice his normal fluffiness, but it all feels very far away, very distant from him somehow. Izuku watches as Kaminari nods, undoing the capture tape he’d just put on the principal. Izuku swallows.

“Sensei, may I be excused?” Izuku asks, ignoring the way Kaminari glances up at him, a confused look on his face. “I’m not feeling well.” Nezu hums, looking at Izuku as he gets to his feet, brushing at his fur to smooth it down. 

“What are you going to do if I let you go, hmm? Run away, I would think.” Nezu meets his eyes, smiling eerily. “It’s strange for a UA student to  _ pretend _ to be quirkless, don’t you think, Kaminari?” Kaminari jolts behind the principal, his eyes flicking quickly from Izuku to Nezu and back. “It makes me wonder what exactly your motivations are, Midoriya.” Nezu steps forward. “I read the report from when you were interrogated. Strange how you worded some of those answers, isn’t it?”

Izuku swallows, takes a deep breath. “If you think I’m a villain,” he says, voice more calm than he feels, “kill me right here, then.”

Nezu’s eyes narrow. “Interesting,” he says. “Don’t want to be questioned?” Izuku sees the horror, the disbelief on Kaminari’s face beside the principal. Izuku thinks he’d feel the same, if their places were swapped. Right now, Izuku doesn’t feel much of anything. It feels like a dream, like imagination.

“You can try and stop me if you’re really that suspicious,” Izuku says, turning. “I’m going to go throw up in the bathroom.” He starts walking, turning his back to Nezu and Kaminari. “I won’t leave UA campus. That’s enough for you, right Nezu-sensei?”

“For now!” Nezu chirps in response. “I’m sure you’re smart enough to know you won’t be able to escape the school property,” he says, and Izuku nods, not turning around to look. 

The walk down the hallway feels like a dream, like a nightmare. Izuku can hear too much, feel too little. His breath is harsh and loud in his throat as he turns to the stairs, taking them two at a time in the hopes of feeling a burn in his muscles, but even that isn’t enough. He feels like he’s suffocating on the inside, but he can’t even make his face twitch as he stops in front of the door to the roof, reaching out to test the handle. This building is tall enough, certainly, and Izuku doesn’t really want to see anyone right now, not with the way Kaminari had looked at him. Betrayed. Hurt.  _ Is that how they’d feel if they knew the truth for real? If I told them what I’d done?  _

Izuku opens the door, the wind rushing in from the roof and hiding the soft click that he knows would normally be there as he shuts the door behind him. The roof is lonely, quiet except for the wind. Izuku dives off headfirst, just to be sure.

\--

When Izuku opens his eyes again, when he wakes up beside Kaminari with Nezo grinning at him, he doesn’t feel much of anything. He just feels tired, even as he hears the words he knows will come.

“This will make it easier for you to hear me,” Nezu says, just like before. “One,” he says, and Izuku doesn’t say anything to Kaminari, doesn’t bother trying to speak. He turns and runs into the nearest building, ignoring the shouts from behind him.

He sits there, even when Nezu barrels through the building, almost hitting him with the scoop of his bulldozer. He sits there, limp and unthinking, unfeeling, until the test is over. He’s not even sure if Kaminari passed or failed. He’s not sure of anything. His mind is grey and fuzzy and distant, and the only thing he can really hear is the sound of blood rushing in his ears. Nezu tells him to see Recovery Girl, asks if he hit his head. Izuku doesn't know how he replies, doesn’t know what he says, but suddenly he’s in the shower stall again, with his knife buried in his forearm, and he can  _ breathe  _ again. 

The world crystallizes around him in pieces, coming back in bright colors and quiet sounds. Izuku can feel the burn of pain in his arms like a flame as he drags the knife through his forearms again, deepening the already fatal cuts there. He sees the blood, cherry bright and glossy in the fluorescent lighting. He smells his blood mixing with the scent of soap in the showers, the clean smell tainted with rust and damp. Izuku feels the tiles, cold and wet underneath him. His blood feels boiling hot as it spills onto his lap, soaking his costume pants. He tips his head back, the back of his skull knocking against the wall, and the only thing he has time to think before he dies is that really, he’s just pathetic.

\--

When he opens his eyes the next time, it’s with a bitter sense of clarity that he hadn’t had before. The clearing is bright and sunny, and Izuku can only barely remember the last reset, but he knows what to do this time. He has a  _ plan _ .

“Kaminari,” he says, turning to his classmate with a determined grin on his face, cutting Nezu off before he can even explain the earpiece. “Let’s not waste any time. Come with me, we’re going to get some I-beams.” Kaminari blinks, then grins, nodding.

“I dunno what for, but I’m game!” Kaminari says, and Izuku turns, jogging over to the pile of I-beams. He’s praying that they’re not so long that they can’t move them, and thankfully, when he gets over and grabs onto one, he finds that he can pull it if not lift it entirely. The metal digs into his fingers, but he starts tugging it anyway, dragging it against the gravel on the ground and pulling it off of the pile and laying it down a short distance away. Across the clearing, Nezu starts counting up, watching them from his perch on the bulldozer.

“Line them up,” Izuku says to Kaminari as the other boy starts tugging his own beam through the gravel, the metal making a loud, bright noise. “We’re going to make you one giant circuit.” He grins at Kaminari, and Kaminari blinks before nodding and dragging his beam to line its end up with the one Izuku’d set down. 

“Do you think we have time for this?” Kaminari asks, running over and pulling another beam from the stack. “I mean, it’s definitely been ten seconds,” he says, jerking his head to the side at where Nezu is grinning evilly and turning the bulldozer around to face them. Izuku grabs his next beam, pulling it to the opposite side of where Kaminari is moving his.

“We don’t need much time,” Izuku says. “We just need him to get close, then I’ll slash his tires and pin him down for a minute. The more of these we have, the wider your effective range without frying your brain is, right? Even if we don’t complete the circuit, it should work.” Izuku pauses, biting at his lower lip. “Well, I think. It’s been a while since I’ve had physics,” he says, laughing nervously, but Kaminari just grins, his head bobbing as he drags the next beam into place. Izuku sets his own down and rushes back to the stack.

“I hope this works!” Kaminari says. “It’d be so cool to get to use my quirk like that.” Izuku sees a bead of sweat run down Kaminari’s head just as the bulldozer lurches forward at them, and Izuku drops his I-beam, sending its end clattering to the ground as he dodges the scoop suddenly swinging at him. He curses, sliding back in a crouch, unable to see if Kaminari made it out of the way.

“Kaminari!” he calls, drawing one of his knives and darting forward, ignoring Nezu and aiming for the wheels.  _ If I  _ don’t  _ act surprised by the gun, I’m in for a rough time. I can just ignore it for now _ . He digs a knife into the rubber of the tire, the hiss that rushes out of it satisfying and sharp in his ears. 

“I’m good!” Kaminari shouts from the other side of the bulldozer, and Izuku sighs in relief just as he hears the loud bang that means Nezu’s finally drawn his pistol. Izuku doesn’t have to fake the way he startles, jumping back as the bullet hits the ground about two feet away from him, and he clenches his teeth.  _ He missed on purpose _ , Izuku thinks to himself.  _ They really are just trying to get us to meet certain objectives. If Nezu wanted to win this, he’d have aimed for my neck. _

“Midoriya! What was that?!” Kaminari shouts, nerves in his voice, and Izuku feels his hair start to stand on end. He grits his teeth together. 

“Sensei’s got a gun!” he shouts back, running forward to stab the next tire. “I don’t think they’d use real bullets on us, though, but be careful either way! Don’t use your indiscriminate shot,” he calls, hoping it’s enough.

“Okay!” Kaminari replies, and judging from the way Izuku doesn’t see any electricity, he thinks it’s probably okay. Izuku goes to shove his knife into the tire in front of him, but suddenly, the bulldozer is moving again, the flat tire he’d cut earlier making a horrible grating noise as the metal rim of it drags against the gravel. Izuku jumps back just in time to avoid the tire crushing him, running along the back of the bulldozer as it shifts and turns in place, pivoting on the damaged wheel. 

“Getting clever, huh boys?” Nezu chuckles. “I like it! I’m not going to make it easy for you, though.” He cackles then, laughing maniacally like a villain. Izuku bites at his lip, running to where Kaminari is standing by the line of I-beams they’d set up, a nervous set to his face.

“Okay, new plan,” Izuku says. “He’s not going to give us a chance to use the I-beams, not with the gun. I’ll cover you,  _ run _ . Don’t worry about me--I’ll get away, I swear.”

Kaminari looks doubtful. “Are you sure, man? I mean, he’s like a genius, wouldn’t he expect--” he’s cut off byt the sharp sound of a gunshot, and Izuku’s throwing himself in front of Kaminari before he can think, grunting in pain as the bullet strikes him in the back, between two if his ribs on his left side. The pain is worse than he’d remembered, and Izuku drops to a knee, his eyes open wide and watering up as he gasps for breath. 

“Midoriya!” Kaminari shouts, but Izuku shakes his head, standing back up, swaying on his feet.

“I’m fine,” he says, tightening his grip on his knife and turning to face Nezu. He rears back and twists, throwing the knife as he says to Kaminari, “Win this for me, okay?” He watches, teeth digging into his lip as the knife strikes the control panel of the bulldozer, sending a spray of sparks up that Nezu has to raise a hand to block, shielding his face from the blast. Izuku starts to run forward at the bulldozer, something uncoiling in his chest as he hears Kaminari running away behind him, the sounds of his friend’s sneakers in the gravel a comforting rhythm as Izuku launches himself into the bulldozer, gripping onto the metal and hauling himself up the side of the thing. Nezu, seemingly recovered from the explosion of the control panel, turns and points his gun at Izuku’s face. Izuku knocks his head forward, smashing his forehead into the side of the gun, hitting both the pistol itself and Nezu’s paw where it grips the handle, sending his arm to the side with a bang as the gun discharges into the space to the left of Izuku’s head.

“Whoa there,” Nezu says, blinking and taking a step back. Izuku feels something hot drip down his face and into his eyebrow and he can feel a red-hot place where the barrel of the gun must have cut his head when he hit it. Izuku just snarls, drawing a knife and stepping forward, slashing out at Nezu’s gun hand. 

“Nope!” Nezu says, deftly blocking Izuku’s attack with a strike to Izuku’s wrist and raising the gun in one smooth motion, raising it to point at Izuku’s head. Izuku jerks forward, ignoring it, and he sees Nezu’s fingers move, curling away from the trigger even before the man speaks.

“Stop, Midoriya,” he says, voice firm. “The test is over. You fail.” Izuku freezes blinking and stepping back. Nezu sighs, shaking his head. “Even with a rubber bullet, a shot to the head like that could still be fatal, you know? And if it’d been a real fight, there’s no question; you’d be dead.” Nezu tilts his head to the side slightly. “I’d heard from Aizawa and All Might that you had self destructive tendencies, but I hadn’t realized they had gotten quite so bad!”

Izuku blinks, swallows. “I failed?” he asks, voice soft and shaky and quiet. Nezu reaches out, pats his shoulder.

“Yes, yes, but it’s not as bad as you think. Don’t get so down about it, hmm? We’ll have tea after this and talk about why you think it’s appropriate to headbutt a handgun, but for now, shouldn’t we go and see if your teammate made it out?” Nezu meets Izuku’s eyes, a small smile on his face. Izuku nods, feeling distant. Nezu blinks.

“You’re dissociating, aren’t you?” He hums, and Izuku doesn’t know what that  _ means _ . “Interesting, interesting.” His grip on Izuku’s shoulder is firm but not painful as he steps forward, turning Izuku. “Do you think you can get down alright? I would help, but I’m a bit shorter than you, so I’m not sure how useful it’d be.” 

“I-I’m fine, sir,” Izuku says, then steps down from the cabin of the bulldozer onto the stairs, the narrow stairs that he’d used in his scramble to the top of the machine. His feet make little clanking sounds on them, and he can see the bright midday sun reflecting off of the metal. He hears Nezu’s steps behind him, lighter than his own.

“Now, you understand why I failed you, yes?” Nezu says from behind him, voice cheerful. “It’s not because you aren’t bright enough or strong enough! In fact, you should think of this as less of a failing grade and more of an order for extra lessons.”

“Extra lessons?” Izuku asks, his voice mumbling slightly. He steps onto the gravel, and as soon as he’s off of the bulldozer, he feels Nezu set a hand on his arm, just below the elbow. Izuku doesn’t really get why, but the sensation helps to make him feel more real, more solid in the moment. 

“Yes! I know you all were told that you’d be kept from the training camp if you failed, but that was more of a motivator than anything else, and it was really more for students like Kaminari than students like you.” Nezu chuckles. “I mean, with you it’s almost that you have a little  _ too _ much enthusiasm! No, you’ll still be allowed to go, just don’t leak that to any of your classmates, okay? I think Aizawa wants to see the looks on their faces.”

“Oh,” Izuku says. What he doesn’t say is that he’d killed himself over the exam, that he kind of feels like hurting himself over it, right now. He wonders if Nezu can feel his scabbed over cuts through his costume sleeve. He’s not going to ask, that’s for sure.

“You’ll be getting remedial lessons, just like those who failed any written exams will have remedial lessons for those between the summer camp and the next semester. It wouldn’t really make sense to train those who’d failed  _ less _ than those who did well, would it? I personally have a few suggestions I’ll be giving to Aizawa for you, namely that you should seriously consider therapy.” Nezu laughs lightly as they turn around a building, the exit of the arena becoming visible. Izuku can see Kaminari standing just outside of the gate, waving.

“Hey, Midoriya, did you win?” he shouts, a bright grin on his face. “Man, I owe you big time, I really wouldn’t have made it otherwise!” Izuku smiles at him, just grateful that Kaminari is sparing him from having to talk to Nezu any more than he’s already had to. Not that it’s really  _ talking _ , per say. More like being talked  _ at _ .

“I-I lost,” he says, the grin on his face turning sheepish. “I’m glad you got away, though.” 

Izuku doesn’t really feel  _ good _ necessarily, but he certainly feels better when he sees how happy he’s made Kaminari.  _ I get to go to the camp, at least _ , he thinks, sighing.  _ It’ll be okay, right? _ Izuku’s all too aware of the way Nezu is watching him, a contemplative look on his features, but he sets it aside for now. The cut on his head is aching, the adrenaline is fading, and the strange fuzziness he’d felt is starting to leave him. He lets Kaminari lead him to where the other students who’ve already finished are waiting.

\--

It’s cool out that evening when Izuku waves goodbye to Kacchan, his friend rolling his eyes and shoving his hands in his pockets as he turns to walk away. Izuku’s house is shaded in orange-red light from the sun setting, and the flowers his mom had planted in the front yard are starting to bloom, finally, gold and orange and white. Izuku can’t tear his eyes from them as he steps up to his door, toeing his bright red sneakers off and picking them up by the backs of the heels as he twists the doorknob, pushing the door inward.

“I’m home,” he calls, softly. He hears a rustling from the back of the house as he sets his shoes down by his mother’s and presses the door shut with his back.

“Izuku? Is that you I hear?” his mom calls back, her face peeking from down the hallway a moment later. “Oh, baby, welcome home!” she says, her face splitting into a grin. “How did your exams go?”

Izuku smiles back at her as he steps, socked feet on cool tile, into the house, but the expression doesn’t reach his eyes. “They were okay,” he says, softly. “I failed my practical, but the rest went well.” Izuku doesn’t look up from the floor as he shuffles into the kitchen, swinging his backpack off of his shoulder and setting it in an empty chair, like he always does. The soft yellow fabric slides easily into the smooth wooden chair. Izuku sighs.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry,” his mom says, a gentle hand resting on his shoulder. Her thumb rubs soft lines into his back. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Izuku shakes his head. “No, I think it’d make it worse,” he says, almost whispering. “Can we just... hang out?” He turns to look at his mom, sees that his eyes are filling with tears just like his are, sees the way she nods quickly.

“Of course!” She says, smiling slightly. “I have things set up for katsudon, if that'll make you feel better? I’d meant to start it earlier, of course, but Mitsuki called me and you know how she is over the phone.” His mother rolls her eyes fondly, and Izuku can’t help but smile a bit, remembering that Kacchan’s mom is impossible to have a  _ short _ phone call with, always chattering right through his mom’s attempts to politely end the conversation. 

“Katsudon would be great, thanks,” he says, and his mom nods before reaching forward and pulling him into a tight hug.

“I love you, baby, no matter what,” she says, squeezing him tightly. “It’s just one exam.”

Izuku squeezes her back, burying his face in her shoulder. “I know, mom,” he says, breathing in her scent and letting his eyes shut. “I’ll be okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: guns, brief mention of vomiting
> 
> discord: https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt
> 
> i hope you all enjoyed!! im sorry again about the shorter length and lower quality of this chapter, I've just been EXHAUSTED today idk why. that you all for your support as usual!!


	37. mall trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku failed his exam but this time for real! and nezu seems to know that his dumb ass is mentally ill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GAMERS i cannot WAIT for the next arc and also for da weekend so i can actually write all day long instead of cramming it all into the end
> 
> also. I've been considering this for a while, but i don't think im going to be able to reply to every single comment anymore :( there are just so many and it takes me a long time to read/reply to them all. i will still read them and reply to questions though!!!! i still appreciate every single one

It’s late at night, after even his patrol, and Izuku is tucked into the covers of his bed, the comforter wrapped around his face and nestled under his jaw. One of his classmates (he thinks it was Ashido, but he doesn’t want to scroll up to check) has made a group chat in honor of their shopping trip tomorrow, and even in the early hours of the morning like this, it’s active, pinging with messages and lighting up Izuku’s phone. _I’m going to have to start muting it at night_ , he thinks distractedly as he reads the most recent message.

 _I can come tomorrow,_ it reads, from Tokoyami. _The adults of my household have given me permission._

Kaminari replies, the message popping up on Izuku’s screen. _Dude, nice!!! Ur parents are up this late tho??_ Izuku glances up at the time on the top edge of his phone screen. It’s just past three a.m., which for Izuku is a pretty normal time to go to bed on nights before days without Aizawa’s training. 

_Yes, night is meaningless for our kind_ , Tokoyami replies, and Izuku can’t help but snort softly in amusement, typing out his own message.

 _I’ll be there for sure,_ he sends, then, _I need some weights for training and stuff. A flashlight, too._ He’d told everyone he could _probably_ make it earlier, but his mom had agreed easily enough, seeming almost relieved to know that he would be at camp and not patrolling the streets. 

_Whoa, Midoriya ur up this late???_ Kaminari replies. _I totally thought u’d be like bakugou and go to bed super early lol_. 

_Hahah no,_ he replies, smiling softly at his phone screen. _I have trouble sleeping_ . It’s not strictly false, since on nights he _doesn’t_ patrol, Izuku is up late anyway just from being used to it, but Kaminari doesn’t need to know that he’s out patrolling at night, anyway. Even though tonight’s patrol had been a little shorter than usual, it’d still been fun, still been calming. Even if all he did was break up a couple of fights and help a very, very drunk individual get a cab home, it’s good enough for him. 

_I, as well, have trouble falling asleep_ , Tokoyami replies. _Are you awake for the same reason, Kaminari?_

 _Lol,_ Kaminari sends. _I stay up this late on purpose and then regret it the next day, every time._ Izuku smiles faintly at his phone before typing out a reply.

 _Well then go to bed!!!_ He sends, then sends another message. _I’m going to try and sleep myself, I think. We’re meeting at the station at 11, right?_

 _That’s correct,_ Tokoyami replies. _Sleep well, both of you._

 _Gn!!_ Kaminari sends, along with a gif of a cat curling up in a bed and tucking its tail over its nose. Izuku mutes his phone, then locks it and sets it on his bedside table before he curls into his bed and shuts his eyes.

\--

It’s a brilliantly bright day when Izuku and his friends step into the shopping center, the sunshine warm on Izuku’s arms even through his sleeves. The shopping mall is all glass and stainless steel and bright paint, and Izuku can’t help the way his eyes dart around, moving from display to display as he and his friends step into the area.

“I’m so excited,” Ashido says, almost a squeal. “I’ve gotta get some new pajamas, since my old ones are like, totally worn out,” she says, stepping toward one of the larger clothing stores. 

“Oh, I’ll come with!” Kirishima calls, running after her. “I need a couple of things from that store, too.” Izuku blinks, watching as they separate from the group.

“I’m going to go and get some outdoor shoes,” Kaminari says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder to point at a store not far away with a bright orange logo. 

“Me too, me too!” Hagakure calls, her shirt moving like she’s raising her hand. “I totally lost my last pair, it’s so embarrassing. How do you even lose shoes?” 

“Wait,” Iida says, following after them. “The informational packet said to use shoes you’re used to, you...” his voice, as well as Kaminari’s and Hagakure’s, fade away as they step into the store. Izuku blinks, glancing around to see that everyone except for him and Uraraka has disappeared, dissipating into the rest of the mall.

“I guess we all have different stuff we need to get, huh?” Uraraka says, putting a finger to her chin thoughtfully. “I just need bug spray for the trip, but after my final exam I sort of want to get a video camera, too.”

Izuku frowns. “A video camera?” he asks, tipping his head to the side. “You were against Midnight in the final, right? Why would that...” Izuku trails off, thinking about Uraraka’s final. He hasn’t watched the footage, yet, but from what he’d heard, she’d won pretty easily.

“Oh, yeah,” Uraraka says, looking uncomfortable. “I was paired up with Mineta, you know? And he said some really creepy stuff, so I was thinking I could maybe get some of it on camera and get him in trouble?” She grimaces, fiddling with the strap of her purse where it’s hung on one shoulder. “It kind of feels just as bad for me to film him without permission, though...”

Izuku blinks, then shakes his head. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it if it’s for your safety,” he says. “What did he do? If he’s bothering you, we should tell Aizawa-sensei before the trip.” As little as Izuku shares with the adults, he’s confident that Aizawa, at least, would take offense to Mineta being creepy towards the girls. It’s different than Izuku’s own secret, that’s for sure, but Izuku thinks that if he _had_ to tell one teacher, it’d be Aizawa, anyway. With everything Izuku’s said to him during training, with everything he’s said to him as _Ace,_ Aizawa always offers his help. _That has to count for_ something _, right?_

Uraraka shrugs. “I-It was just stuff like saying he wanted to go on the trip so he could see us in the hot springs,” she says, swallowing. “Stuff like that. And there was that one time where he tried to peep in the locker room, y’know? And even though Jirou stopped him, I still kind of think we should have told someone.” 

Izuku nods. “So you’re thinking if you catch him redhanded at the training camp, they’ll have to do something.” Uraraka nods, humming.

“Mhmm. It’s kind of mean of me, but I don't want him to just get a slap on the wrist. I kind of want him to get a real punishment, and I don’t think he will without proof.” Uraraka looks uncomfortable. “Is that awful of me? I know it’s not very heroic, I just--” Izuku cuts her off.

“It’s plenty heroic,” he says, voice firm. “Being a hero doesn’t mean you shouldn’t stand up for yourself. In fact, doing this now could stop him from doing worse stuff in the future. I think it’s brave of you.” He pauses, biting at his lower lip. “I still think you should talk to Aizawa-sensei, though.”

“What if he doesn’t believe me, though?” Uraraka huffs out a breath of air, like she’s frustrated. “I know that this is different, but any time someone like, cat called me in middle school, the teachers just told me to get over it, you know?” She twists her face into a frown. “I don’t want him to think I’m just getting Mineta in trouble to be mean.”

Izuku bites at his lip because he _knows_ that feeling. “I’m sorry, Uraraka,” he says. “I can’t promise he’ll listen, but...” He shrugs. “I think Aizawa-sensei is different, then other teachers. One time during training, I was hurt,” he holds up his wrist, tracing where the bruise had once been. “I didn’t even tell him about it, and when he saw, he asked who’d done it to me and stuff. It _wasn’t_ from something serious like that, but if it had been, I could tell he’d be in my corner, y’know?” He glances up, giving Uraraka a soft smile. “Plus, we all know sensei doesn’t mind expelling people.” 

Uraraka nods, smiling at him. “Right,” she says. “I’ll think about it. Thank you, Deku.” She reaches out, setting a hand on his upper arm and giving it a squeeze. “I’ll keep you updated on it all, okay?”

Izuku nods, grinning. “Yeah!” He tips his head slightly to the side. “I’ve gotta buy some workout stuff, but we’re all meeting back up for lunch, right?” 

Uraraka nods. “Mhmm! I’ll see you then, Deku!” Her grin is bright and stretches her cheeks as she bounces off, towards a row of stores off to their left. Izuku sighs, watching her go. 

It’s not that he’s not familiar with what she was talking about; it’s that it’s _too_ familiar. As Izuku steps forward, glancing around for a mall directory, he remembers middle school, remembers being hit and tripped and burned. He remembers telling the teachers, and while he doesn’t remember exactly who said what and when, he knows the common thread. _You’re being dramatic. Bullies only go after people who give them a reaction. If you don’t react, don’t get upset, it would stop. They can’t help it, they’re just playing. A little roughhousing among friends is nothing to worry about. You’re just a little fragile, Midoriya. You’re just sensitive._

Izuku knows that, with Uraraka, it’s different. Mineta’s being like how he is just because he’s a bad person, because he’s a creep. Uraraka and the other girls haven’t done anything to deserve that sort of behavior. Izuku’d always been... irritating. He’d always been the kind of kid to cry at a joke that he was supposed to laugh at. He’d been quirkless, useless. As Izuku steps up to a sign, squinting at the multicolored labels on the map of the mall, he wonders if the reason he wasn’t getting bullied at UA is because he’d stopped being so sensitive. Stopped being so annoying. He doesn’t know. 

Izuku is trying to read the sign, distracting himself by thinking about how Kacchan doesn’t hit him anymore, doesn’t call him useless as much, when he feels a hand come down on his shoulder, warm and heavy. Izuku blinks, flinching back as he turns to stare directly into the face of Shigaraki Tomura, a wide smile on the man’s cracked lips. Izuku swallows. _He looks different without the hand on his face._

“Midoriya, right?” Shigaraki hums, moving his hand up to rest on the skin of Izuku’s neck, his arm thrown over Izuku’s shoulder like they’re friends. “I was calling to you, you know. It’s rude to ignore someone.” Izuku can feel that four of his fingers, dry and warm, are resting on Izuku’s skin. Shigaraki can probably feel his pulse, can _definitely_ feel the way Izuku swallows, throat bobbing. 

“I-I was distracted,” Izuku says, licking his lips. 

“Act like we’re old friends,” Shigaraki growls, walking forward and tugging Izuku along with him. “Control your breathing and keep your voice down. If you act up, all it’ll take is me putting down my last finger and you’ll be a pile of dust within seconds.”

“Okay,” Izuku says, shrugging. “I’m not scared of you.” He relishes in the way Shigaraki growls. _Maybe not showing weakness_ does _work with bullies_ , he thinks, a smile quirking up on his lips.

“Are you stupid?” Shigaraki mutters. “You know I can kill you in one hit, right? It’ll be game over for you.” Izuku hums.

“Mm, but you won’t, right?” He _can’t_ , actually, but that’s beside the point. “I doubt you’d make it very far if you dusted me now, not in a crowd like this.”

Shigaraki laughs, raspy and low. “Sure. But do you think they’re expecting something like this? Look at them,” he says, gesturing at the crowd. “I bet I could kill twenty, maybe thirty, before someone stopped me,” he says, laughing, and it sends a chill down Izuku’s spine. He could reset, he can always reset, but the thought of watching Shigaraki kill all of these bystanders, _painfully_ , because Izuku couldn’t behave? 

“I-I’ll be good. What do you w-want to talk about?” Izuku whispers, and Shigaraki nods. Izuku can see a grin split his cracking lips.

“There we go,” he rasps, leading Izuku to a bench, a wooden thing pressed against an island of ornamental flowers. “Let’s sit down. It’s more comfortable that way.” He turns them, pushing Izuku down so that he’s forced to sit down with shigaraki, the wood of the bench warm from the sun. Izuku shivers despite the warmth, wanting to lean away from where Shigaraki’s side touches his own, but he doesn’t dare to.

“What I want to talk about, hmm,” Shigaraki sighs, his breath sour in Izuku’s nose. “You know, to be honest, I didn’t think I was gonna run into you here. It’s a random event, I guess.” Shigaraki laughs, his shoulders shaking slightly. “I’ve been annoyed, lately. I’m pissed off about the hero killer getting all of the attention.” Izuku swallows.

“Aren’t you two buddies?” he asks. Shigaraki sighs next to him, and Izuku chews on the inside of his lip to keep himself from jerking away when Shigaraki’s grip on his neck tightens slightly.

“As if. I only worked with that creep because we needed the manpower.” Shigaraki’s voice lowers, getting raspier. “The media just decided that because we teamed up once, that we were allies or something. It’s fucking stupid.” Shigaraki sighs, huffing out a breath of hot air. “I don’t get why he’s everyone’s new favorite guy. What’s so special about him? What makes him and I different? Fangirl, too. She was there in Hosu, and she was all over the news, but now she’s gone completely. They forgot about me and her in a week, but Stain is everybody’s new best friend!” His other hand twitches in his lap, and Izuku finds himself staring at it. He wonders why Shigaraki doesn’t wear gloves when he’s out and about, like this.

“It’s because of his message,” Izuku mumbles, still watching Shigaraki’s arm. “People like the idea of justice. Of righteous killing. It’s why people like heroes in the first place. With Stain, they might not like what he’s done, but they agree with his ideas, you know? They like the idea of punishing those who have done wrong, those who used their power to hurt others.” Izuku breathes out, slow. “You and Fangirl, though, I don’t think they can relate to at all. Nobody knows what she wants, why she was there, and with you, all you want is destruction. If you have a reason for it, nobody’s heard it. So of course they like Stain better.” Izuku winces in pain as Shigaraki’s fingers dig into his flesh, pressing the man’s nail into the skin of his throat. Izuku feels more than sees the way Shigaraki starts to shake.

“So it’s because I don’t have a reason?” Shigaraki hisses, picking up his other hand to scratch at his neck. “I have a reason. Everything has a reason. I hate you, Midoriya. I really, really hate you, you know that.” Izuku feels Shigaraki’s fingers compress his throat, making it hard to breathe. The pressure builds up in his skull and he tries to push himself away, but Shigaraki’s grip only tightens.

“Ah ah ah, you don’t want me to kill all of them, do you?” Shigaraki asks, tipping his head at the people walking around them. “You don’t think my vendetta is righteous? You don’t think I want justice?” Shigaraki shakes his head. “When I kill All Might, it’ll be for a _reason_ , Midoriya. I’ll punish him for what he’s done wrong. Even if nobody understands, I’ll make sure he pays the price.” Shigaraki digs his fingers in, squeezes. 

“What did he do wrong?” Izuku asks. “What does he need to pay for?” And then, he takes a risk. “He hurt me, too, Shigaraki.” Shigaraki freezes, his fingers going lax on Izuku’s neck but not pulling away.

“ _What?!_ ” Shigaraki hisses. “He--He’s your _teacher_ . He’s your _friend_. You--How did he hurt you? Tell me,” he snarls, and Izuku sees blood out of the corner of his eye, on Shigaraki’s neck. Izuku takes a deep breath. 

“I-It’s not as bad as whatever he did to you,” Izuku says. “But I’m quirkless, and I asked him if I could be a hero,” Izuku says, swallowing. Shigaraki’s grip tightens on his neck. “We were on a roof. He told me I couldn’t be a hero, that I should give up on my dream. He told me I should give up, and he left me on a roof.” 

Shigaraki sighs, the movement shuddery and strange. “You’re right,” he says, pulling his hand off of Izuku’s neck. “That’s not as bad as what he did to me.” Izuku turns, staring at him. Shigaraki’s red eyes are narrowed, his lips drawn into a frown. 

“The Gekkeiju,” Izuku says, his mouth moving without his permission. “They have a captive named Avenging Angel. Do you know where they’re keeping her?” Shigaraki snorts, standing up and shoving his hands in his pockets. He looks back at Izuku, an eyebrow raised.

“I have no clue, and if I did, why on earth would I tell a brat like you?” Shigaraki stares at Izuku, a faint smile on his face for just a moment before it drops and he asks, “So why didn’t you jump?” Izuku’s still seated on the bench, looking up at Shigaraki. The hood over Shigaraki’s head casts a shadow over his eyes, over the bridge of his nose. His lips are parted slightly, his eyes half lidded. His red irises seem to glow.

“I don’t know,” Izuku answers, barely more than a whisper, because he can’t exactly say that he _did_. “I guess I didn’t listen to him.”

Shigaraki snorts. “I guess not,” he says, turning. Izuku sighs, watching him go. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Uraraka run to him, fear and concern plain on her face.

“Deku, was that _Shigaraki_? From the League of Villains?” Uraraka bites her lip, stepping forward. “Oh my gosh, your neck...” She reaches into her pocket, pulling out her phone and typing into it quickly.

“I-I’m okay, really,” Izuku says, because the threat of death really doesn’t bother him at this point. “He just wanted to talk.” Uraraka squints at him, holding the phone to her ear.

“Hello? Yes, please send the police and some heroes to the Kiyashi ward mall. There was just a villain who attacked my friend. Yes, I can stay on the line. Nobody is hurt except my friend, and he just has some bruising, I think.” She pauses, putting a hand over the receiver and leaning away to look at Izuku. “Are you hurt anywhere else? They want to know if they should send an ambulance or just a medic.”

Izuku shakes his head. “I-I’m fine, really. It’s just bruised, like you said.” He reaches up a hand to touch his throat. It feels warm to the touch, but not painful. “It doesn’t even hurt.”

Uraraka gives him a disbelieving look, shaking her head. “I’m just glad you’re okay,” she says. “That was so scary. He could have killed you, Deku.” She presses her lips together and steps forward, pulling him into a hug. “When I saw him, here with you, I--”

“Uraraka, it’s okay,” Izuku says, and he hears faint talking on the other side of the receiver. “The emergency services, I think they’re asking you something.” He pats her back gently as she nods, pulling away from the hug to press the phone back to her ear.

Izuku waits patiently for the police to arrive. The whole time, he replays his conversation with Shigaraki in his head, over and over like a broken record. _All Might hurt him,_ Izuku thinks. _But what did he do?_

\--

When Izuku is sitting in a too-hard chair at the police station, facing Detective Tsukauchi from across a neat table, he’s not sure why he’s surprised, really. Tsukauchi sits down, pushing a mug across the table at Izuku, a smile on the man’s face.

“We really need to stop meeting like this, Midoriya,” Tsukauchi jokes, a light smile on his face. “You know, I never actually asked if you like hot cocoa, I just kind of assumed.”

“I-I like it,” Izuku replies, reaching forward to wrap a hand around the mug, the warmth seeping through the ceramic and into his hand. It’s a plain mug, just white, but there’s a chip in the handle, and Izuku runs his thumb over it, feeling the rough patch in the middle of the smooth, glazed surface.

“Good, good. I would offer you coffee, but you’re a little young for it,” he says, giving Izuku a friendly smile as he sets his notebook down on the table in front of him, clicking his pen open. “Now, this should be easy. I’m just trying to see if there’s anything new we can learn about Shigaraki from this encounter.”

Izuku nods. “I-I figured,” he says. He runs his finger over the chip in the mug, over and over again. “I think there’s something you should know,” he starts, then shuts his mouth, pressing his lips together. Tsukauchi tips his head to the side slightly.

“Go ahead, Midoriya,” he says, voice kind. “What is it?” His pen is resting on the paper, but his eyes are on Izuku.

“Shigaraki was wronged by All Might at some point,” Izuku says. “And I think that’s why he’s doing this. He’s also working with the other villain group--the Gekkeiju--for sure, but I don’t think it’s as closely as before. And he’s really mad that Stain is going viral and he isn’t.” Izuku presses his thumb into the chip in the mug. It’s not sharp, but it’s close, and it stings a little bit. He watches Tsukauchi’s pen fly across the paper, making quick notes.

“It sounds like you know exactly what kind of information I’m looking for,” Tsukauchi says, lifting his eyes to look up at Izuku. “Is there anything else you know? Especially if he mentioned any names, dates, or locations.” Izuku shakes his head.

“He didn’t say anything like that,” Izuku says. The mug is hot enough that it’s scalding his skin, but he doesn’t think Tsukauchi notices. “He did say it was an accident that he ran into me, though.” Izuku wonders when he’ll be allowed to go. His neck hurts.

“Thank you,” Tsukauchi says, giving Izuku a smile and a nod. “I’ll let you go, then. Aizawa is waiting for you in the lobby,” he says, standing up and pushing his chair back. Izuku blinks.

“Aizawa-sensei is?” Izuku asks, feeling like his head too full and too empty all at once.

Tsukauchi nods. “You’re handling this really well, but you’ve just been through a traumatic event. He’s going to make sure you get home to your mom alright.” He smiles slightly. “You know, it’s thanks to you that there weren’t any serious injuries from this event. You did really well, keeping calm and gathering information like you did. You’ll make a wonderful hero one day.”

Izuku blinks. “R-Really?” he blurts out, not thinking. Tsukauchi just nods. 

“Really. Now, come on. I want to get you to your teacher before he gets too irritated with me for keeping you,” he says, and Izuku nods, rising to his feet. He follows Tsukauchi out of the room, and it’s only when they step into the lobby that he realizes he hadn’t even touched the hot cocoa. 

Aizawa looks even more disheveled than usual, with his hair in a messy ponytail and his capture weapon laid haphazardly across his neck and shoulders. He’s wearing his hero costume, but it looks like he’s just thrown it on, the fabric wrinkled in places. He looks tired, but not in the usual way, almost like he’d just woken up. When Izuku and Tsukauchi step into the room, he stands up, his eyes half lidded as they look at Izuku.

“Are you alright, problem child?” he asks, taking a few quick steps forward and reaching a hand forward to tilt Izuku’s head back ever so slightly, examining his neck.

“I-I’m okay,” Izuku says, and Aizawa grunts, releasing his jaw. 

“You’re a villain magnet,” Aizawa replies. “Let’s get you home. I’ve already called your mother to tell her you’re on your way out.” He turns, marching toward the door out of the police station, and Izuku blinks, twisting his head to look up at Tsukauchi.

“Can I...?” he gestures to the door, where Aizawa is yanking it open. Tsukauchi nods.

“Be safe, Midoriya,” he says as Izuku turns, following his sensei out of the building. The night is cool and quiet, a stark contrast to the day, with the summer heat and the hustle and bustle of the mall. Aizawa is quiet, but Izuku can hear his footsteps on the concrete, can hear the way their rhythm slows to allow Izuku to catch up. Aizawa glances at him from the sides of his eyes, and sighs.

“Midoriya,” he says, voice low and rough. “I got a call from Nezu earlier today. It was about your final exam.”

Izuku blinks. “O-Oh,” he says, his heart starting to beat faster in his chest. Aizawa sighs, slipping his hands into his pockets.

“He was concerned for your mental health,” Aizawa explains. “He said it’d be fine for you to keep talking to me, but he suggested you get actual therapy. I think it’d be a good idea.” Izuku can tell that Aizawa is watching him, but trying to be subtle about it. Izuku bites his lip.

“I-I don’t need it,” he says. “Talking with you is enough.” Izuku blinks, looking around. “Wait, sensei, the train station is the other way.

Aizawa arches an eyebrow. “I drove. You were attacked by a villain today. I’m not making you take the train.” He pulls a set of car keys out of his pocket, waving them in the air. They jangle, catching the light and making a soft sound. Izuku blinks. 

“Oh,” he answers, because he’s tired and he can’t think of anything else to say. Aizawa stops, standing in front of a small blue car with a scratched front bumper, clicking the keys and unlocking the car. He opens the passenger door for Izuku but doesn't wait for him to get in, instead walking around to the driver’s side and getting in himself. Izuku climbs into the car, settling into the grey fabric seat and shutting the door behind him. It smells like peaches in the car, like fruit and vanilla. Izuku wonders if Aizawa sprays something in it to make it smell that way, or if it’s from him eating in the vehicle. 

“Midoriya, I need to ask you something,” Aizawa says as he sticks the keys in the ignition, turning them. The car roars to life as Izuku buckles his seatbelt. “You need to be honest, even if you’re scared.” Izuku blinks, turning to see Aizawa staring at him seriously.

“O-Okay?” Izuku replies, feeling a little lost. Aizawa takes a small breath.

“Are you suicidal?” he asks, and Izuku feels his eyes widen ever-so-slightly. 

“N-No,” Izuku replies instantly, shaking his head. Aizawa’s eyes narrow. 

“Do you mean that, or are you just saying that because you think it’s the right answer?” Aizawa asks. “Nezu explained to me your method of fighting, and frankly, I’m concerned for you. Especially after today.” Aizawa swallows. “I haven’t had a student die yet, and I really don’t want you to be the first.” He stares Izuku down, dark irises gleaming faintly in the light that filters through the car windows. “So I’ll ask it again. Are you suicidal?”

Izuku swallows, breathes. “No,” he answers. “I’m not.” He hates himself for lying, but he doesn’t have any choice, does he? _It’s not like it’s really killing myself, anyway,_ he thinks as Aizawa nods, some of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders. _It’s not like I actually die. Suicide is a bad thing; what I’m doing isn’t_. 

Izuku drifts off into sleep on the drive back, and when he does, he finds himself dreaming about Shigaraki’s hands, Shigaraki’s quirk. About his skin and his muscles and his bones turning to dust, piece by piece, flaking away and drifting into the wind. Izuku dreams about _having_ Shigaraki’s quirk, on top of his own. He dreams about killing himself by dissolving into dust, by fading away into nothingness, over and over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: none i think
> 
> discord: https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt
> 
> i hope u are all having good weeks!!! next chap is the first training camp arc chap and i am SO EXCITED


	38. summer camp, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku gets shiggy with it at the mall, aizawa asks him if he's suicidal and he's like NO DEFINITELY NOT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's UP gamers and nerds here's a chapter im dying of excitement for this arc hope it lives up to the hype
> 
> also tried some different stuff in this chapter esp since a lot of this is just the build up to the Thing we all know Happens at the summer camp

The night before they leave for summer camp is a humid, sticky night. It had rained in the afternoon, when Izuku was at the grocery store with his mom, picking up ingredients for the katsudon she’d made them for dinner that night. The rain had only been a light drizzle, sprinkling down from the sky and falling over the asphalt, painting the city in bright colors and filling the air with the scent of ozone, but now that it’s been a few hours, it’s muggy and hot. Izuku breathes, the motion sucking his mask in towards his face and then pushing it out. The fabric of it feels sticky. 

Izuku follows the line of a road he sometimes patrols along. He doesn’t watch it  _ every _ night, mostly because it’s a common route for the early evening heroes to patrol, and he wants his time to be as useful as possible. Today, though, he’s walking this way for a purely selfish reason; this street borders a small island of trees within the city. Now that it’s summer (the first of July--Izuku’d ripped the June page off of the calendar before leaving on patrol), if he’s near enough to trees, he can see flickering, bobbing lights, green and yellow among the trees. Izuku should be patrolling properly, but he doesn’t get to see fireflies often, and there’s something calm about walking along the sidewalk, watching the clumsy little lights drifting around. 

It’s probably because he’s watching the fireflies bop around that he doesn’t notice the figure as early as he might otherwise, but it also could be because of the light fog that clings to the bottom of the wooded area to his right. It’s not really  _ forest _ , since it’s only about the width of a block and the length of three, but it seems to be enough to hold the mist, to have it cling to the ground. Izuku sees the person before they see him, though, and he blinks, squinting behind his goggles. The person is leaned against a tree, their fluffy, messy hair standing on end. They’re wearing baggy, dark clothes, but their face is illuminated by the light of the phone they’re holding, their hands resting against their knees which are almost drawn up to their chest. Izuku blinks again, because he recognizes this person.  _ Shinsou?  _ he thinks quietly to himself as he steps forward. 

“Hey,” he says instead, because he knows that Ace doesn’t have a reason to know Shinsou. “Are you alright?” he asks, giving Shinsou a little wave when he jerks in surprise, glancing up and narrowing his eyes slightly. The bags under his eyes are darker than usual, and when Shinsou turns off his phone screen and shoves it into his pocket, his face is covered in shadow. His violet hair looks grey in the dim light, mixing with the fog that swirls on the ground.

“I’m fine,” Shinsou says, standing up. “You’re that vigilante who’s been running around for a few months. Ace, or something like that.” Shinsou licks his lower lip, and Izuku’s gaze catches there, on the small split in Shinsou’s lip. It looks like he could have bitten through it, maybe, but Izuku thinks it’s more likely he got hit, judging from the slight bruising he thinks he can see. Or maybe it’s a shadow. It’s far too dark to know for sure.

“That’s me,” Izuku replies. “What are you doing out so late?” He tips his head slightly to the side, keeps his voice and tone lower and slower than his natural voice. squi“It’s dangerous to be out alone, you know.”

Shinsou snorts, rolling his eyes. “You’re like, thirteen. I should be saying that to you.” His eyes flicker over Izuku, narrowing. “You look awfully familiar,” he says, voice hesitant.

“I’m sure you’ve seen me around,” Izuku replies, “if you’re out late like this often.”

Shinsou shrugs. “I wouldn’t call it  _ often _ ,” he says, kicking at the ground, his shoe scuffing in it. “I’m fine, though. You can go fight people or whatever it is vigilantes do.”

Izuku raises an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly to the side. “Vigilantes can also help people out if they’re in trouble,” he says. “Aren’t you that kid from UA? I watched the sports festival.”

Shinsou snorts. “Of course you did.” He glances down, at the ground. A firefly flickers in lime green by his cheek. “I don’t need any help,” he says, but his voice is small. Izuku crosses his arms over his chest, leans on one leg. 

“Then how come you’re out in the woods at three in the morning?” Izuku asks. Shinsou looks up at him, face flat.

“It’s my birthday,” Shinsou drawls. “If you watched the sports festival, then do you know my quirk?” It’s the first question Shinsou’s asked, and Izuku recognizes the challenge immediately. 

“I do,” he responds, and he doesn’t let himself tense up. He doesn’t let himself show any surprise or fear when Shinsou stares up at him, a heavy look in his hooded eyes. A grin splits his face, showing his straight teeth, and Izuku feels something settle into his mind, something thick and wispy like the fog that curls over the ground. It doesn’t feel malicious, doesn’t feel violent, but it’s not like he’s gone to sleep, either. The world just becomes distant, misty and slow. Izuku sees Shinsou stand up, brushing off the legs of his jeans. He steps closer to Izuku, his face impassive.

“You’re pretty stupid,” Shinsou says, close enough that Izuku could reach and touch him, if he was in control of his own body. “Did you think I wouldn’t use it on you?” He tilts his head slightly to the side. Izuku can’t reply, can’t move his own mouth, so he simply stares.

The release of the quirk is more dramatic than the start of it was; everything comes back into sharp focus all at once. Izuku blinks ghosts of fog away from his eyes, gives his head a little shake, then looks at Shinsou, who’s still standing in front of him. It’s clear, now, that he’s been punched in the lip, along his jaw. There’s a soft bruise blooming there, almost the color of Shinsou’s hair. A firefly buzzes by Izuku’s ear, flickering yellow off and on. 

“I knew you would,” Izuku says. “You’ve heard about me, so I suppose you know about my quirk, too.” He doesn’t really ask a question, and Shinsou doesn’t really answer.

“You saw the future,” he says, deadpan. “You knew, and you answered anyway.” Izuku nods. He wonders if, from this close up, Shinsou can see his eyes through the reflective coating on his goggles.  _ Probably not,  _ he thinks.  _ He’d have reacted in some way if he recognized me _ . 

“Happy birthday,” Izuku says, and the edges of Shinsou’s lips quirk up into a bitter smile.

“Yeah,” he says, turning and walking back into the woods, his hands sliding into the kangaroo pocket at the front of his hoodie. “Some birthday it’s been,” he mutters. 

“If I can--” Izuku starts, but he cuts himself off when Shinsou raises a hand to stop him.

“You can’t help with this,” he says. “Have a good night, Ace.”

Izuku watches him go, watches him step into the woods, mist swirling around him until he disappears. When he’s out of sight, out of  _ earshot _ , Izuku whispers to himself,

“You too, Shinsou.” He tries not to, but the rest of the patrol is spent wondering why Shinsou was alone, outside, and hurt on his birthday. He doesn’t like any of the reasons his mind comes up with.

\--

The bus ride is a strange thing. Izuku isn’t sure if he’s ever been on a trip like this and  _ not _ been afraid of the people he’s gone with, but the feeling is certainly strange. It’s oddly reminiscent of the bus ride to USJ, when he’d seen Kacchan of all people getting made fun of, and something about it squeezes at his heart. Izuku doesn’t know what he’d do, without his friends. 

Take right now, for example. When Izuku’d gotten on the bus, when he’d settled into his seat near the back of the bus, he’d been a live wire of nerves, vibrating just under the surface. His mind had been filled with memories, with the times he’d been on a bus as a kid. Like when he was four, old enough to have a quirk but not old enough to know he  _ didn’t _ and he was sitting beside Kacchan, playing war with a battered deck of cards. Every time Kacchan had slapped down a card, his palms had sputtered and sparked. He had insisted it was on purpose, but when Izuku pointed out the way his palms were scalded red and blistering, the way that Kacchan was wincing with each blast, Kacchan refused to play card with him the entire rest of the trip.

Or when Izuku was six and he knew he was quirkless, knew he was useless, and all of the other kids on the bus refused to sit near him, refused to talk to him. They hadn’t figured out, yet, that his condition wasn’t contagious. They talked  _ about _ him, though, whispers and mean words under their breaths. Izuku’d heard every one, just like when he was twelve and it was a middle school field trip. 

He’d been sitting funny, leaning forward and keeping his back away from the seat behind him because he had a burn the size and shape of Kacchan’s newest attack that stretched from the top of his hip up to the bottom edge of his shoulder blade on the right side of his back. Every motion of the bus, every shift and bump, moved his clothes against the wound, making Izuku gasp under his breath, making him tear up. The kids at the front of the bus laughed at him, calling him a weakling and a crybaby. Izuku knew better than to acknowledge them. He didn’t react, not on purpose, but he couldn’t help but cry, and the teacher chaperoning the trip told him, quietly, once they’d gotten off the bus, that he really should stop giving them what they wanted.  _ It’s like you’re rewarding them, really, _ he’d told Izuku, shaking his head. 

So when Izuku sat on the bus for  _ this  _ trip, he’d been sweaty and nervous and  _ jumpy _ . He’d wanted off, wanted to go home, except when Uraraka got on the bus she sat right next to him. When Todoroki and Iida and Tsuyu had gotten on the bus, they’d filled the seats as close as they could, smiling and laughing. When Izuku’d flinched at a sudden movement of Iida’s hand in the seat in front of him, they’d paused. Tsuyu had asked him if he was alright. He’d told them that buses make him nervous, that he doesn’t like them. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but.

But now, he’s sitting in his seat, wrapped in a blanket that Iida had fished out of his luggage, a blanket that Todoroki had used his left side to warm up for him. His hands, poking out of the navy blue, plush blanket, are wrapped around a cool bottle of water, something that Tsuyu had asked Aizawa for, had gotten up and walked to the front of the bus to get for  _ him _ . His mouth tastes like ginger, spicy and warm from the ginger candy Uraraka’d given him a few minutes ago, in case he got motion sick. Now, surrounded by his friends, Izuku actually thinks he might  _ like _ bus trips. 

“This is nice,” he whispers from where he’s leaned up against Todoroki’s left side, soaking up the warmth. “You guys are being so nice to me.”

Todoroki glances down at him, something soft and surprised in his eyes. “Of course,” he says. “If our friend is sick, it’s natural that we’d want to help. That’s what heroes do, right?”

“Right,” Izuku says. “I’m not sick, though,” he points out. Todoroki blinks at him.

“Okay. If our friend is upset,” he corrects. From the seat in front of them, Tsuyu turns, her head tipped to the side slightly.

“It’s good practice, too, ribbit,” she croaks. “Not only does it help our friend, but it’ll also help us later on when we have to take care of victims.” 

“I mean,” Izuku starts, “I-I’m not like, a victim of anything.” He chuckles lightly, but Todoroki hums thoughtfully beside him.

“Maybe not in the sense that Tsuyu was talking about, but you were upset for a reason, right? Somebody hurt you,” he observes, meeting Izuku’s gaze. “Even if it wasn’t just now, it still hurt.” Izuku swallows.

“I-I...” he takes a deep breath. “Yeah. S-Someone did, but it’s okay now,” he says, squeezing his fingers into the plastic of the water bottle, crinkling it. Todoroki and Tsuyu don’t say anything else, but Izuku feels a pulse of comforting heat from Todoroki’s side, and Tsuyu smiles at them before turning back to the front of the bus.

\--

The forest is a wild thing, would be a wild thing even without the earthen beasts that rise from the soil, brushing aside trees like they’re twigs, swimming through the trees effortlessly. Even from the moment the bus is parked and they’re told to run to the camp themselves, to get there before lunch, Izuku knows that this will take longer. They can’t even  _ see _ the camp from their vantage point on the top of the hill, just a huge stretch of wooded land, green and thick with leaves. Izuku’s spent enough time running, weaving through streets and buildings that don’t even have the natural hazards that the forest will that he knows it’ll take far more time than the Wild Wild Pussycats claim it will. 

As Izuku runs through the woods now, his legs burning from the effort of having been moving like this for well over three hours, he’s just hoping this was intentional on the part of the pros. He can’t imagine it wouldn’t be, not with the way Pixie-Bob’s clay creatures are always there, fighting them and following them as they run, but never striking too hard, never hurting them in any way worse than a few scratches or light bruises. Izuku wonders how close Ragdoll is, for them to have this level of coordination. 

There’s something exhilarating about running through the woods like this, though, in much the same way running through the city is for Izuku. The scenery is so different that it’s striking, the green of the leaves and the rich, deep browns of the tree trunks, the yellow and white of wildflowers blooming in patches where light reaches the forest floor. As Izuku runs, his shoes crunch through the leaves, kicking them up in his wakes. The forest smells clean and clear, green and damp in a way that the city never smells, not even on the rainiest day. 

It’s probably because it smells and looks and sounds so different from his usual environment that Izuku feels unsettled like he does, feels a prickle of anxiety as he moves through the trees. Like he’s being watched, except he  _ knows _ he’s being watched--by Ragdoll and the other pros on the trip. He knows he’s safe, here. 

But he can’t shake that anxious feeling, no matter how much he justifies to himself that he knows there’s nothing wrong. 

\--

After arriving at the campsite, after eating a dinner that tastes so good Izuku thinks he’s probably died and gone to heaven, after unpacking their things, Izuku follows behind his classmates, trailing a short distance after them as they all walk to the hot springs. It smells nice, in the way that hot springs do, sulfurous and damp and clean, but Izuku has goosebumps rising under the robe he’s wearing to keep his arms covered. 

His friends are mostly in towels wrapped around waists, not robes, and it makes Izuku more than a little self conscious. His nerves are alleviated the smallest bit by the fact that beside Izuku, walking slowly and hanging back, just like him, Todoroki is also in a robe, white and thick. His eyes, grey and teal, keep flickering over to Izuku, then darting away. Izuku wonders if Todoroki’s looking at the scrape on the underside of Izuku’s jaw, from where he’d walked into a particularly sharp branch, or if there’s something else. 

“Midoriya,” Todoroki says when they get to the edge of the bathing area, thick steam rising around them. It sticks to Izuku’s skin, making him feel damp and sticky, even more so than he did from his sweat alone. Izuku tips his head slightly at his friend.

“What’s up?” he asks, and Todoroki glances to the side, then starts walking.

“I have an idea,” he says, leading Izuku a bit away from the others, toward a small pool that’s about fifteen feet from the main ones. It’s quiet, the surface of the water smooth and glassy as steam rises up from it. Izuku blinks at it.

“I-I’m good, Todoroki,” Izuku says, giving Todoroki a faint smile. “I think I’ll just bathe in private, l-later.” Todoroki tips his head at him.

“We could bathe here,” he says, swallowing. “Together.” Izuku blinks.

“W-What?” he asks, trying to process what Todoroki had just said. Todoroki, who changes in the bathrooms, too. Todoroki, who is incredibly private, even now that he and Izuku are friends, even now that Izuku knows about his dad. Todoroki doesn’t seem phased.

“You’re hiding scars,” Todoroki says, mismatched eyes wide and honest, “right?”

Izuku blinks, opens his mouth to answer, but Todoroki holds up his own arm, his hand resting on the cloth that covers his skin. Izuku stares as Todoroki pulls back his sleeve slightly, revealing the smooth muscle underneath. And the scars. Izuku can see them, twisted, red marks, none as obvious as his face but still clearly  _ burn _ scars. Izuku’s seen Todoroki’s arms before, but not like this, not without fire and grime and adrenaline in the way. Izuku blinks.

“Oh,” he says, and Todoroki lets his sleeve drop. “T-That’s not why,” Izuku says, biting at his lower lip, but Todoroki’s gaze drops meaningfully to Izuku’s arms where they’re clasped in front of him, his fingers twisted together.

“I...” Todoroki swallows. “I know that you hurt yourself,” he says, and Izuku feels his jaw drop, feels his eyes widen. “I don’t know  _ how _ I know, but... you do, right?” He glances back up at Izuku, and all Izuku can do is stare, open mouthed.

“I-I don’t!” Izuku says, taking a step back. “Y-You can’t say anything. You c-can’t tell anyone, I--” Todoroki cuts him off, shaking his head.

“I’m not going to get you in trouble for it,” Todoroki says. “I think it’s your quirk, that it’s why I know.” He frowns, thinking. “It can... leak, onto others, right?” Izuku squints at him.

“I don’t have a quirk,” he replies, but Todoroki keeps going.

“I don’t remember it well, but I’ve seen it. You.” Todoroki swallows, looking uncomfortable. “Cutting yourself.” He swallows again. “So I already know.”

Izuku shakes his head. “I-I really don’t have a quirk, Todoroki, so I don’t know how you’d know that,” he says, even though what he  _ wants _ to do is ask how much Todoroki remembers, how much he knows.  _ He clearly doesn’t think I was trying to kill myself, but he knows I cut myself. But how? How does he remember? It doesn’t make sense, even with what happened at the sports festival. _

“If I’m wrong, and there’s another reason, that’s okay,” Todoroki says, sighing. “I don’t mean to pry. I just thought you’d like to use the hot springs now, before bed.” He turns to the side, crouching down in front of the water. “I can...” He places his hands over the water, frost gathering on his right hand, and suddenly there’s a thick cloud of steam rising from the water, clouding the area in mist so thick that Izuku can barely see Todoroki in front of him.

“Oh,” Izuku says, blinking down at Todoroki, who smiles up at him. 

“Is it okay if I...?” Todoroki tugs slightly at the front of his robe, and Izuku blinks, then nods.

“Y-Yeah, it’s fine.” He blushes, looking away as Todoroki disrobes and gets into the water. “Thank you,” he says, quietly. “This was... It was really thoughtful.” He sighs, steeling himself, and he drops his own robe, stepping into the side of the spring opposite Todoroki. The water is warm in the best way, soothing the ache of his overworked muscles and sinking deep into his skin. Izuku sighs in contentment as he slides into the water, the rippling surface of it rising up to his shoulders. He looks up, across the pool, and he sees Todoroki looking at him with a curious look on his face.

“I thought they’d be vertical,” Todoroki says, then flushes red, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, that was rude.” Izuku gives him a shaky smile, glancing down at the thin, parallel marks on his arms, clustered in the three inches above and the two inches below his elbow. 

“I-It’s okay,” he says. “It’s actually kind of... relaxing?” he says, chuckling slightly. “To have someone know. I-I didn’t think it would be, but--” he stops talks when he sees Todoroki nodding a faint smile on his face.

“That’s how I felt when I told you,” he says, reaching up his left hand to trace along the edges of the scar on his eye. “About my father, and my scar. It was like... it wasn’t such a heavy burden any more.” He sighs, his muscled shoulders rising and falling with the motion.

“Yeah,” Izuku breathes. “That’s exactly what it’s like.” He relaxes, letting his eyes slide shut, leaning his head back against the edge of the spring.

“Are those... burn scars?” Todoroki asks, voice curious and nothing else. Izuku peeks one eye open to look at him. His right side is giving off a thick fog, drifting up around them in wisps. Izuku glances down at himself, at the multitude of small scars he has on his skin, shiny and starburst shaped. They’re not as big or as rippled and red as Todoroki’s, and none of Todoroki’s other scars even compare to the one on his face, but they do look similar.

“Kind of,” Izuku murmurs in response. He moves his hand under water, tracing over a scar on his forearm, where Kacchan had grabbed him and exploded. That one had blistered, gone bright red and oozed and burned. Izuku’d kept it bandaged for so long that he’d started to wonder if it would never heal.

“Bakugou,” Todoroki says, and it’s not a question. He says it with something dark in his voice, something accusatory. When Izuku looks back up at him, there’s a sort of flame in his eyes. 

“I-It’s different, now,” Izuku says, swallowing. “He’s not like that, not anymore.” Todoroki’s brows furrow, slightly.

“But he did this to you,” he says, voice slightly confused. “Your scars, they’re not from just one or two days. Those are from  _ years _ ,” he says, holding up his own arm, as if to compare. Izuku knows he’s right, knows that the pattern of scarring, the old mixed with older mixed with too-fresh means that Izuku’s been burned, over and over again. Izuku shakes his head anyway.

“He did,” he says, sighing. “He did hurt me, but he doesn’t any more. We’re  _ friends _ , now.” Todoroki frowns.

“Friends don’t hurt each other,” Todoroki says. “Not doing it any more doesn’t make it  _ okay _ .” Izuku shakes his head.

“He apologized,” he says. “He apologized, and he’s trying to make up for it. I think. So I’m forgiving him. Or, well,” he scratches at the side of his neck. “I’m trying to.”

Todoroki blinks at him, slowly. “Do you think,” he starts, swallowing. “Do you think it makes me a bad person, if I know I’ll never forgive my...?” Izuku blinks, shakes his head.

“No, it doesn’t,” Izuku says. “We’re different people. I-It’s different circumstances.” He takes a deep breath. “It’s different.” 

Todoroki nods, looking back down at the water, solemn. “You know it’s still abuse,” Todoroki says, “when a friend hurts you, like that. It may be different than my father and I, but it’s still abuse.”

Izuku glances down at the water, at his own reflection, warped and obscured by the fog. “Yeah,” he whispers. “I know.”

\--

It’s a bright morning the next day, the sunlight streaming through the trees and casting sharp shadows on the clearing they’re standing in. Izuku watches, something bitter and painful in his chest, as Aizawa and Vlad King organize the other students, directing them to their places and instructing them on how to train their quirks. It’s something that he wishes he’d be able to do, something that, even though he’s a UA student and in the hero course and  _ technically _ he has a quirk, reminds him how fundamentally different he is from his classmates. How he’s lacking. The sun is warm on his skin, and he’s already wishing that he had the option to wear short sleeves. 

“Midoriya,” a familiar voice says, sneering, and Izuku turns to see Monoma, staring at him with narrow eyes and a sly smirk. “I’ve heard a little rumor that you failed your final exam.” He giggles. “Not so smart now, are you?” He leans in towards Izuku slightly, and Izuku leans back.

“D-Didn’t you fail, too?” Izuku asks, biting at his lower lip. Monoma glares at him, folding his arms over his chest.

“Maybe,” he answers. “But there’s just something so  _ satisfying _ about you failing, too.” He grins, wide and predatory. “You’re getting left out of quirk training too, aren’t you? Oh, this is good.” Izuku frowns, opening his mouth to reply, but he’s interrupted by Aizawa’s voice behind him. 

“Midoriya, Monoma,” Aizawa drawls, and Izuku turns, blinking in surprise to see his teacher standing behind him, hands in his pockets. “You two are last,” he says, and Izuku blinks.

“B-But I can’t do quirk training,” Izuku blurts out. “I-I don’t have a quirk  _ to _ train.” Aizawa stares at him, arches an eyebrow.

“You won’t be training to use a quirk,” Aizawa says. “You’ll be training to fight against them.” He turns to Monoma. “Monoma, you’ll be training to increase the length of time you can hold others’ quirks, as well as your ability to use them. I want you to copy quirks as you please, but use them until your time runs out. Fight Midoriya with them.” Aizawa’s gaze slips over to Izuku. “You should be fairly evenly matched, even with your quirk.”

Monoma huffs. “Are you kidding me? With the use of any of these quirks,” he gestures to class 1-A and 1-B where they’re training, “destroying him will be a  _ breeze. _ It’s honestly cruel for you to even pair us up!” His eyes slide to Izuku, narrowed by his wide smirk.

“Why don’t you find out?” Aizawa says, sighing. “Don’t kill each other. If you do, I’ll have to fill out paperwork.” He turns, shuffling away from them without another word. Izuku stares after him.

“Well then,” Monoma says. “I guess I should go and grab a couple of quirks,” he turns, humming as he walks off, toward his classmates. Izuku blinks. 

_ This is certainly going to be an interesting trip _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: implied canon child abuse, bullying, implied vomiting i think
> 
> discord: https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt
> 
> i hope this one was okay!!!! i forgot how much of the training camp in canon was like.... chill. like, there were whole ass DAYS until the league popped in
> 
> thank you for the support as always!!! ily guys sm


	39. summer camp, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku sees shinsou as ace, izuku takes da bus, the summer training camp starts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys here's 5.3k words of what im sure looks like random garbage but i promise it's all important for setting later stuff up it just took way more words than i thought

Izuku isn’t sure exactly what he expected the remedial classes to be, but now that he, Kirishima, Satou, and Monoma are sat in the annex building together, in desks and watching Aizawa slowly extract himself from that bright yellow sleeping bag, Izuku relaxes the smallest bit.  _ It’s really just class _ , he thinks. 

Aizawa’s gaze flickers to him as he steps out of the sleeping bag, a smirk creeping up on his teacher’s face, and Izuku thinks that he stands corrected. Aizawa glances around the class, slowly, and tips his head slightly to the side.

“So,” he says. “Do you all know why you failed your practical exam?” Izuku swallows. He doesn’t like the grin on his sensei’s face.

“Uh, isn’t it because we didn’t capture Cementoss-sensei or escape?” Kirishima says, glancing at Satou as he does. Satou shrugs, just the tiniest bit, and Aizawa sighs, shaking his head.

“In you and Satou’s case, Kirishima, it’s because you both failed to recognize and work around your limits. Both of your quirks have an exhaustion point, but Cementoss’s doesn’t. You both knew this, yet you still tried to fight a battle of attrition against him.” Aizawa folds his arms over his chest, stares Kirishima down. “From your answers on the written portion of the heroics exam, it’s clear that you understand that heroes have to be creative and have to work around their limits, but you didn’t even make an effort to do so on the practical.  _ That’s _ why you failed.” Izuku swallows, watches Kirishima rub the back of his neck in embarrassment. Satou is slightly red next to him, staring at the wooden surface of his desk like it might absorb him

Monoma giggles. “So  _ stupid _ . It really is true that 1-A is inferior to 1-B.” He leans back in his chair, propping his elbow up on the back of it and his chin on his fist, grinning at Kirishima and Satou with half lidded eyes. Aizawa sighs.

“Monoma, you’re in no position to talk,” he says, tapping his fingers on the outside of his folded arms like he’s bored. “Do you know why you failed  _ your _ final?”

Monoma huffs, rolling his eyes. “Because it was biased against me?” Aizawa narrows his eyes, unblinking.

“No,” he says, slowly, like Monoma is stupid. “Because you saw an unfavorable situation for you and let your partner do all of the work.”

Monoma raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t heroes supposed to work as a team, or whatever? I was under the impression that was the whole  _ point _ of pairing us up for the finals.” Aizawa sighs.

“It was  _ part _ of it, and heroes  _ are _ supposed to work together, but making the snap decision that you won’t be useful and relying entirely on your teammate isn’t a good use of your time, especially considering that you  _ could _ have been useful in that fight,” Aizawa says, his voice thick with irritation. Monoma just shrugs.

“Whatever. I wasn’t the only one who failed for being deadweight though, was I?” he asks, eyes sliding over to look at Izuku. Aizawa shakes his head.

“Midoriya didn’t fail for the same reason you did,” he says, his eyes moving to look at Izuku. “Tell us why you failed, Midoriya.”

Izuku swallows. “Um, i-it was because I was too reckless, right?” He fidgets with the end of his long sleeved t-shirt. There’s something odd about being in a classroom without his uniform, even if it is a remedial lesson at a training camp.

Aizawa nods. “While reckless may be an understatement,” he drawls. “Yes. Midoriya failed for almost the exact opposite reason as you, Monoma.” 

Monoma rolls his eyes, leaning back in his seat and sighing a breath of air that blows a piece of his blonde hair off of his face. “He still failed,” he says, petulantly. Aizawa just nods, ever so slightly.

“You all failed,” he says, glancing across the room. “But that’s fine. The point of the first term final exam is less to assess your progress and more to push you to address a specific weakness we’ve noted in your development,” Aizawa says, voice calm and clear. “The matchups and scoring system were designed to pass you if you overcame that weakness or demonstrated that it wasn’t actually as big of a problem as we thought in the first place. Therefore, failing the exam is less of a failure on your part and more of an indicator that we as teachers have more work to do.” He tilts his head slightly to the side, a small smirk on his lips. “In many ways, calling it an exam at all is a logical ruse.”

“Now,” he says, turning to the blackboard on the back wall and picking up a piece of chalk. “The remedial lessons aren’t a punishment. My job here is to work you through the weaknesses that resulted in your failure to pass the exam in the first place,” Aizawa writes each of their names in a row across the top of the board, with lots of room underneath. “We’ll be doing a few different things in here, but for tonight, I want to talk in detail about what each of your weaknesses are and how you can work to overcome them.” 

Monoma groans. “God, is this what 1-A does all of the time? No wonder you’re all so annoying.” Aizawa glares at him.

“We can start with you, then, Monoma,” he says. “You were paired with Tokage and Vlad King.” He tips his head slightly. “Earlier, you said that the exam was biased against you. What makes you think that?”

Monoma squints at him. “Are you stupid?” he asks. “I can’t copy either of their quirks safely,” he says, folding his arms over his chest, a mirror of Aizawa’s stance. “But you knew that already.”

Aizawa nods. “I did.” His gaze moves to the side. “Explain your quirk and why you couldn’t use it in that situation,” he says. Monoma scowls.

“I don’t really  _ want _ to give away how my quirk works to these losers,” Monoma says, but he keeps talking. “I can copy others' quirks for up to five minutes after touching them,and right now I can hold three quirks at a time. Tokage’s quirk lets her split herself into pieces and move them around. Vlad-sensei can control his blood and harden it at will.” Monoma sighs. “So, if I was actively using either of those powers when my time ran out, I’d either be in literal pieces or have a large amount of my blood outside of my body. Not  _ great _ , considering that I enjoy being alive.” Izuku blinks, considering that. He kind of wonders what it says about him that his first thought is that if he could, he’d give both a try.  _ I guess Monoma wouldn’t come back, though, so it’s different _ .

“Right,” Aizawa says. “So, you sat on the sidelines and let Tokage capture Vlad King without helping.” Monoma rolls his eyes.

“Actually, I hid and kept myself out of danger so that Tokage didn’t have to worry about me,” he says, huffing. “Which I still think was the responsible thing to do.” Izuku notices that Monoma’s hands are squeezing his forearms tightly, like he’s grounding himself. Izuku wonders how much of the self-absorbed thing is an act.

“Kirishima,” Aizawa says, his eyes sliding over to the other boy. “What would you do in a situation like that?” Kirishima blinks.

“Uh. I’m guessing I don’t have my own quirk?” Kirishima replies, and Aizawa nods. “Okay. I guess that I’d try to listen to what my teammate said? I mean, if they  _ told _ me to hide and wait it out, I’d honestly probably listen. I’d be pretty freaked if my quirk was gone.” Izuku ignores the pang of annoyance he feels at that. It’s not like Kirishima has any point of reference for what it’s like, so of  _ course _ it’d be upsetting.

“Think of it less like you’re suddenly quirkless and more like you’re in a situation where your quirk doesn’t do any good,” Aizawa says. “Like in your battle with Cementoss. You both are harder to damage because of your quirks, but yours has a time limit and his doesn’t. His also allows for long ranged attacks, which you can’t do. The situation with Monoma was similar, and even though it was in different ways, you both handled a bad quirk matchup poorly.” Aizawa’s gaze shifts, landing on Izuku. “Midoriya. What do you think Monoma should have done?”

Izuku blinks. “Uh,” he says, intelligently. “It’s not like he couldn’t fight,” Izuku says, biting at his lower lip. “S-So he could just fight without a quirk.”

Aizawa nods. “Exactly. Vlad King is a better fighter than you in general, Monoma, but you knew he was wearing weights and you had a teammate whose quirk makes her adept at combat. You could have easily engaged Vlad in combat, helping to distract him and making the job easier for Tokage.” Aizawa sighs. “ _ That _ would be relying on your teammate. What you did was give up.” 

Monoma huffs out a breath of air. “Well, hindsight is 20/20, isn’t it?” he says, but Izuku can see that he’s looking to the side, not meeting Aizawa’s gaze, and that his body is slightly more tense than before. Aizawa nods.

“It is. Which is why we’ll be doing more than just talk about the exams. This is just the first task.” He glances over to Kirishima and Satou. “Now, let's talk about you two. Satou, you’ve been quiet. Do you have any ideas about what you could have done?”

Satou purses his lips, shifting in his seat to sit up straighter. “Well, I shouldn’t have used my quirk as much as I did,” he says, frowning. “I knew I had a set limit, and I’m pretty strong even without it. Either way though, Cementoss-sensei is stronger than me, so I’m not exactly sure what I should have done.” He sighs. “Just that what I did was wrong.” 

“Strong doesn’t mean hard to escape,” Izuku blurts out before he can stop himself. “I-I mean, Cementoss-sensei is a bad matchup for pretty much  _ anyone _ in hand-to-hand, and neither of you have long ranged attacks, s-so escaping was definitely the better choice for you.” He glances up to Aizawa, hoping he’s not in trouble for speaking out of turn, but Aizawa just nods.

“Exactly. But, how would they escape? As you’ve all pointed out, Cementoss had the distinct advantage in this fight. What should Satou and Kirishima have done?” Aizawa gaze switches to the left. “Monoma. You answer.”

Monoma shrugs. “I don’t know. It seems pretty obvious to me,” he says, his earlier discomfort at being scrutinized clearly gone. “Cementoss-sensei’s power blocks his line of sight. He can’t see through the concrete, so it’d be easy enough to stay hidden. And if I’m correct on your quirks,” he looks over to Kirishima and Satou, “you two should have been able to bust through any walls he made, if you saved your quirks for when necessary.” 

“Oh wait, that’s genius!” Kirishima says, blinking. “Using his own quirk against him like that,” he leans back in his seat, facepalming. “Gahh, why didn’t we think of that?” Satou nods beside him, looking thoughtful, and Izuku  _ swears _ he sees the smallest hint of a smile on Aizawa’s face, but when Izuku looks up properly, it’s gone.

“Thinking outside of the box is necessary, especially when your quirks don’t have a lot of flexibility,” Aizawa says. “Monoma is forced to do that constantly, because his quirk necessitates it. Midoriya as well, although for a different reason.” His gaze slides over to Midoriya. “What should _ you _ have done in your final?”

Izuku swallows. “I-I should have... been less reckless?” He gives Aizawa a smile, but Aizawa just stares back at him.

“Okay. And what would that have looked like?” Aizawa asks, face neutral. Izuku blinks, but it’s Kirishima who responds.

“Maybe next time don’t headbutt a gun, dude,” he says, laughter in his voice. “Kaminari told the whole Bakusquad about it, and then we watched the tapes. You were  _ feral _ , man.” Satou nods in agreement, but Monoma makes a choking noise in his throat.

“You did  _ what _ ?” he asks, eyes wide and expression a mix of amused and incredulous. “Who on earth pulled a gun on you, anyway?”

“N-Nezu,” Izuku replies. “A-And I figured it wouldn’t have real bullets in it, so...” He shrugs, looking down at his desk and Aizawa starts to speak.

“It was loaded with rubber bullets,” Aizawa says, “which are still possibly deadly at short range. You headbutted the pistol and charged at Nezu with it pointed directly at your head.” Aizawa sighs. “I really hope I don’t have to elaborate on  _ why _ exactly that was a bad idea.”

“Yeah,” Kirishima says, “you totally could have died, man.” He chuckles, nervously, and when Izuku looks up at him, he has a nervous look on his face.

Izuku blinks. “But I didn’t,” he points out. Monoma snorts.

“Yeah, because it was a test,” he says, and when Izuku glances over to him, he’s rolling his eyes. “Are you suicidal or something?” He phrases it as a joke, that sly smirk on his face, but Izuku doesn’t miss the way Aizawa’s eyes narrow slightly at the comment. Izuku shrugs. 

“N-No, I just knew he wouldn’t hurt me,” Izuku argues weakly. “I wouldn’t have fought like that in a real battle.”

“Except you do,” Aizawa says, arching an eyebrow. “Both with the USJ and more recently.” Izuku knows, implicitly, that Aizawa means the battle with Stain. “So. I’ll ask again. How should Midoriya have handled a fight against Nezu, paired with Kaminari?” Izuku watches as Aizawa sweeps his gaze over the group.

“He should have relied more on his partner,” Monoma says. “Kaminari is the lightning guy, right? With Midoriya’s combat skill and Kaminari’s long ranged attacks, cornering and capturing Nezu should have been easy enough.” He sighs, rolling his eyes. “Honestly. You’d think you’d be a little smarter than that.”

“You’re one to talk,” Kirishima says. “Weren’t you the one who hid the whole time? Don’t make fun of Midoriya, he’s just doing his best.” Kirishima glares at Monoma, his lips set in a frown, and Izuku blinks, surprised. 

“I-It’s okay, Kirishima,” Izuku says, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “I-I mean, Monoma’s right. I-I probably should have trusted Kaminari more, it’s just difficult to do that in the heat of things,” he says, reaching up to rub the back of his head. Aizawa, at the front of the room, nods.

“It is. Part of hero training is unlearning harmful instincts, like that one. It takes time,” Aizawa says, then yawns, the motion splitting his face. Izuku blinks, resisting the urge to yawn himself. “I think that’s enough for the time being, anyway. You’ve all had a long day. Go and help cook dinner, and think about what we’ve talked about. Tonight will be harder,” Aizawa grins. 

Izuku smiles back, the edges of his lips twitching nervously as he gathers his things and gets ready to leave. 

\--

Izuku sighs, running his hands over the carrot he’s holding, the cool water of the tap spilling over his hands and helping him to rub the dirt off of the surface of the vegetable. When he thinks it’s clean, he sets it to the side, on a folded white towel that rests between him and Kacchan, who’s furiously chopping vegetables, his hand moving so quickly the knife looks like a blur. Even though Izuku still has more remedial training after dinner, he’s exhausted, his limbs slow and heavy as he grabs a potato and brings it under the stream of water, rubbing his thumb over the surface and brushing away the dirt. 

“Wow,” Sero says, “Bakugou’s pretty good at cooking. It’s kind of surprising, right?” He chuckles, and Kaminari nods eagerly beside him. 

“It really is! You’d think with all of the explodey-ness, he’d be bad at it,” Kaminari says, grinning wide. To Izuku’s right, Kacchan growls, low and irritated.

“Shut the fuck up,” he says, chopping faster. “I’m a damn good cook, and if you want any fucking food you’ll keep your mouths shut.” He glares down at the cutting board, the sound of the knife hitting the wooden surface filling the air. Izuku smiles.

“You know, his dad taught us both to cook,” Izuku says, looking up as he sets the potato down on the towel and reaches for another one. “Neither of us were very good at first, but Kacchan practiced a lot.” He smiles fondly at the memory, at the thought of a tiny Kacchan angrily cutting up cucumber while Izuku made the dressing, mixing the ingredients together and tasting it a little too much. 

“Shut up, Deku,” Kacchan growls. Izuku just smiles, tipping his head to the side and looking at Sero and Kaminari. 

“Kacchan got really serious about it, too. He’d stay up late every night cooking to practice, and the Bakugous had to keep inviting my mom and I over to help eat all of the extra food,” Izuku says, smiling fondly. “Kacchan would get really mad if we didn’t eat all--” Izuku’s cut off by Kacchan literally exploding next to him, stepping back from the cutting board just in time to avoid launching carrots into the air. His palms spark and crackle as he glares at Izuku.

“If you don’t shut your nerd mouth right now,” Kacchan growls, stepping forward, “I’m gonna blast your fucking head right off of your body.” Izuku giggles, stepping back slightly, still smiling even as Kacchan snarls at him.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you.” Todoroki’s voice startles Izuku, serious and dark behind him. “Midoriya isn’t doing anything wrong,” he says, voice firm. 

Kacchan glares at him, lips curled up in a snarl. “This isn’t any of your fucking business, Icyhot. Fuck off,” he hisses, raising his hands and settign off little explosions in his palms threateningly. Izuku blinks, swallowing as Todoroki steps forward, standing slightly in front of Izuku. Izuku reaches out a hand and tugs gently on the sleeve of Todoroki’s shirt.

“Todoroki, it’s okay,” he says, quietly. “Kacchan isn’t going to hurt me.” Todoroki glances back at him, his face serious. 

“He has before,” Todoroki points out, a whisper so quiet Izuku can barely hear it. He can feel the others’ gaze on the three of them, but he keeps his eyes on Todoroki.

“He has,” Izuku agrees with a small nod. “But he won’t now.” Todoroki holds his gaze for another beat, then turns and looks at Kacchan, his mismatched eyes still dark but relaxing ever so slightly.

“If you’re sure,” he says, before turning on his heels and walking away, like nothing happened. Kacchan’s eyes narrow, his lips turned down in a scowl as he watches Todoroki leave. Izuku grabs another potato and holds it under the water, washing it carefully. 

“Oooookay,” Sero says, laughing nervously. “That was weird. I’m not the only one who thought that was weird, right?” Kaminari nods beside him, miming a shiver.

“Todoroki was all cold and shit! Man, I didn’t know you were fighting with him, Bakugou,” Kaminari says, looking at Kacchan, who snorts.

“We’re not,” he says and steps back to the cutting board, resumes chopping the carrot. The sounds quickly fill the silence, and Izuku relaxes. Even if Kacchan wasn’t going to hurt him this time, there’s something nice about knowing that if he had, Todoroki would have stepped in.

\--

It’s only once they’re all seated at the table, eating their homemade beef stew, that Izuku realizes someone’s missing. The table is full, loud and active, but when Izuku scans the crowd, looks around at the cooking area and at the pros where they sit, talking to each other and eating their own food, the sky already dark and the light from lamps and cooking fires illuminating the area, Izuku doesn’t see Kouta anywhere. He blinks, standing up from his seat. 

“Deku?” Uraraka asks, glancing up from her bowl of stew. “Is everything alright?”

Izuku nods. “Yeah. I’m going to take some food to Kouta; he’s not here.” Uraraka blinks, glancing around.

“Oh, you’re right,” she says, sounding surprised. “That’s a good idea, then. Do you know where he went?” She stands up, too, and Izuku shakes his head.

“No, but I have an idea,” he replies, giving her a smile. “You can stay here! I’ll only be gone a moment.” Uraraka nods, sitting back down.

“I hope he’s feeling alright,” she says, pressing a hand to her cheek. “It’s probably a lot, for a little kid who’s been through so much.” She sighs. “Good luck!” She gives him a smile, which Izuku returns. 

“Thanks!” He gives her a small wave as he turns, headed to where he remembers seeing Kouta last. It doesn’t take him long to find a set of small, child-sized footprints in the dusty ground, the top layer of dirt scuffed up from all of the training they’d done earlier. It makes it easy to follow the tracks, makes it easy for Izuku to head out of the lit area and into the nighttime, the dirt path he follows lit by the moon and stars. The dirt that he knows is red-orange looks almost violet in the light cast by the navy-dark sky, and as Izuku’s eyes adjust to the darkness, he can see the gently swaying leaves on the trees that border the path. It’s not quiet, not like he’d thought it would be. He can hear the sounds of laughter and conversation from the camp, can hear crickets and cicadas and birds in the first, can hear soft wind rippling through trees, pressing leaves into leaves in a cascading whisper. It’s soothing, much like the soft sounds of the city. 

When Izuku steps up to the top of the ridge, where it overlooks the forest, he sees Kouta, crouched on the ground with his back pressed to the stone cliff face behind him. He’s got his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped around him, but he picks his head up to glare at Izuku as he approaches. Izuku gives him a little wave.

“Go away,” Kouta says, dropping his head back down to his knees, his chin resting on top of them. His head is propped up so that he’s looking out onto the forest. Izuku steps over to stand closer to him, then sits next to him on the ground. Kouta huffs out a breath of air, irritated, as Izuku sets a bowl of beef stew in front of him.

“I noticed you didn’t get anything to eat, so I brought you this,” Izuku says, giving him a soft smile. Kouta rolls his eyes.

“I said go away,” he says, voice a mumble. “I’m not hungry.” Izuku doesn’t get up, instead leaning back on the palms of his hands and tilting his head back to look up at the stars. “This is my secret base. You’re not welcome here.”

“Your secret base, huh?” Izuku murmurs. Kouta snorts.

“Don’t you get tired of them?” Kouta asks, voice petulant. “Flaunting their stupid, flashy quirks. I hate it.” Izuku sighs, shrugging, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Kouta turn to look at him.

“I mean, it’s tiring sometimes, yeah,” Izuku says. “Since I don’t have a quirk, it kind of sucks that it’s the most important thing to so many people, you know?” He pauses, something connecting in his mind. “Your parents, they were heroes, right?”

“Did that stupid Mandalay tell you that?” Kouta asks, voice thick with irritation. “I don’t need you hero types up in my business. I can handle myself.”

“Mandalay didn’t tell me anything,” Izuku says, and Kouta shrugs.

“Either way. I don’t like you and I don’t like your friends. Everyone calls themselves heroes or villains, but all they do is hurt people. It’s stupid and all it does is leave people behind.” Kouta’s arms tighten around his knees. “If you’d all just stop being idiots, you wouldn’t end up like that.”

“End up dead, you mean,” Izuku says, quietly, and Kouta’s head snaps over to look at him. “It’s not just quirks that do that, you know.”

“What do you know?!” Kouta asks, voice almost a shout. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say. You don’t understand anything!”

“I’ve seen people die,” Izuku says, quietly. “Both because of quirks and because of other things--weapons.” He sighs. “I think people would be trying to kill each other even without quirks. Some people are just... bad. And other people are driven to stop the bad guys. It’s those people, those good people, that get hurt, but it’s the people around them that pay the price.” Izuku thinks about Aizawa’s dead body, at USJ. The dead civilians from way back, when he’d fought the porcupine villain. Iida, against Stain and Manami. He thinks about the way Aizawa’s face twisted up in pain when he told Ace about his dead friend. The way Iida is still trying to move on from his brother’s injuries. 

“Whatever,” Kouta says. “Leave me alone. You can say whatever you want, but you don’t understand.” His voice is choked with tears. Izuku stands.

“You’re right,” he says softly. “I can’t understand what you’ve been through. Good night, Kouta.” He turns, starting to walk back down the path, away from the ridge and the cave. He doesn’t hear Kouta say anything, but he wasn’t expecting him to.

\--

The next morning, Izuku is really, really starting to hate the concept of remedial training. Once they’d been released to go to bed, it had already been plenty late as is, but bathing and changing had eaten up a few more precious minutes of sleep, and to top it off, Izuku had had strange dreams all night, dreams of the forest and hot springs, empty, except for him. Silent, except for his breath. 

The fact that there’s sound now is nice, in theory, but now that he’s standing in front of Monoma, who looks at  _ least _ as tired as he does, it’s kind of giving him a headache. 

“Do you have them?” Izuku asks, resisting the urge to yawn. He wonders if he has bags under his eyes, like the dark smudges under Monoma’s blue ones. Monoma nods.

“Yeah, yeah, I copied a few. Let’s just get this over with,” he says, lips pressed into a frown. It’s a stark contrast to yesterday, when Monoma had acted overconfident, sure of himself. Izuku honestly can’t remember if he fought Monoma with or without resetting in the sports festival, but from the way he’d acted, Izuku would have to guess no. After getting punched in the face a few times, though, Monoma had stopped acting better than him, at least while they were fighting.

Izuku drops into a fighting stance, whipping a leg out to sweep at Monoma’s feet, trying to knock him over. He hisses in pain when Monoma takes the hit, his leg turning into something hard and metallic, bruising Izuku’s leg. Izuku doesn’t stop, though, instead hooking his leg behind Monoma’s hardened one and using the motion to pull himself forward, aiming an elbow strike at Monoma’s chest. Predictably, Monoma turns his sternum to steel, but Izuku knows to pull back his strength, now. Monoma grins.

“Oh, I like this one a lot,” he says, stepping back just as Izuku throws a punch. “Tetsutetsu’s is harder to use than Kirishima’s though.”

“Really?” Izuku asks, but it comes out as more of a grunt as he raises both arms to block an enlarged punch from Monoma, the boy’s fist growing to about the size of his head.

“Yeah,” Monoma says, twisting out of the way of a kick that Izuku doesn’t really want to hit, not considering that Monoma’s arm is already turning to steel, his hand back to its usual size. “You know, when these run out, you should let me try and copy your quirk,” Monoma says, stepping back and gritting his teeth. Izuku hisses in surprise as his body moves back, jerking slightly before stopping. 

“Who’s was that?” Izuku asks, stepping back as Monoma gives himself a shake, blinking as if in pain.

“Yanagi,” he says. “You must be over her weight limit.” Monoma straightens up. “Would have been nice to know it gives you a headrush when you try something heavier.” 

Izuku hums, stepping in to kick at Monoma again. The strike connects, but there’s not much weight behind it. Monoma glares at him.

“So, can I?” Monoma asks, and Izuku punches him in the jaw just for that. Monoma’s head snaps back, his eyes squeezing shut for just a second. 

“No,” Izuku says. “I’ve told you a couple of times, and the answer hasn’t changed. I don’t want to know and I don’t want  _ you _ to know,” he says, blocking a steel punch Monoma throws with a wince as it connects with his forearm, rattling the bone there.

“I don’t get why you wouldn’t want to know,” Monoma answers, rolling his eyes. “Like, wouldn’t it be nice? To know? I might even be able to figure out what it does, since I know what it feels like  _ not _ to have it.” Izuku shakes his head.

“I don’t want to know, because either way it’s not something  _ I _ can use,” he says, not for the first time. “What does it feel like, anyway? Having a quirk?” Izuku slides back to get some distance, then steps forward and pivots to throw a back kick at Monoma, one that sends Monoma sliding back a short way, even though he blocks. It feels nice, to have that kind of strength. Izuku still isn’t used to it.

“Hmm,” Monoma’s face twists slightly, “It’s different for each quirk. For mine, it’s like... pulling,” he says, stepping forward and throwing a half-hearted punch. “When I touch someone, I can pull. And if I do, I have their quirk.”

“So it’s not automatic?” Izuku asks, and Monoma shakes his head. 

“I do it on accident, sometimes, like a reflex,” he says. “I don’t use others’ by accident, usually, unless they’re really hard to control, but if someone startles me with touch, I usually use copy by mistake. It’s like turning your head when you hear your name,” Monoma says, hissing as Izuku lands a kick on his side. “You  _ can _ resist, and it’s not automatic, necessarily, because you learned to do it, but it’s going to happen if you don’t stop it.” 

Izuku blinks. “That makes sense,” he says. “You’re really smart, Monoma,” he says, smiling as he throws an elbow strike out at him. Monoma blocks it, throwing his own punch in retaliation. 

“Of course I am,” Monoma says, rolling his eyes. “I’m in class 1-B. The dumbest one of us is smarter than the smartest one of you.” Izuku snorts, kneeing him in the gut. Monoma grunts, glaring at him.

“Looks like I’m still better at combat, though,” Izuku says, giving Monoma a smile and stepping back as Monoma straightens up, rolling his eyes. 

“Whatever. I’m going to go get another set of quirks,” he says, turning and starting to walk away. Izuku blinks, glancing up at the clock Aizawa had propped up against a table not far away from them.

“Hey, Monoma!” he calls. Monoma pauses, turning to look over his shoulder.

“What?” he asks, sighing. Izuku smiles.

“That was more than five minutes!” He says. “It was almost six!” Monoma blinks at him, then turns and starts to walk away.

“Of course it was,” he says. “Obviously I’d improve from training like this,” he replies, waving a hand, but Izuku thinks he can hear a pleased tone to his voice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: none i think
> 
> ily guys sm the support is AMAIZNG and it keeps me going <3 <3 yall are so pog
> 
> discord: https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt


	40. summer camp, part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku gets bonked in remedial lessons, todoroki does a protect, and monoma drops some character development

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys!!! please be careful with this one. check the content warning in the end notes and be safe
> 
> ALSO 2k KUDOS AND 200k WORDS !!!! HOLY SHIT

Izuku’s having an awfully hard time staying awake during the remedial classes that evening. He’s pretty sure it’s a mix of being drained from fighting Monoma all day long and not sleeping much at night, but he’d kind of hoped that he and the other remedial kids would be allowed to participate in the test of courage. Instead, they were back in the annex classroom, going over how to develop plans in a crisis, appear unconcerned to civilians, and not show weakness to villains, all at once. Izuku sighs, resting his cheek on the palm of his hand. 

“Midoriya,” Aizawa says, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t fall asleep.” Izuku sits up straight, taking a deep breath as Aizawa turns back to the board, where there's a list of different techniques they’re supposed to learn to use to control their instincts. The words are familiar enough to Izuku, things like  _ square breathing _ and  _ invoke the five senses _ and  _ approach the situation logically _ . Izuku knows how to do all of those things from his training with Aizawa, he just doesn’t find them all that helpful. 

“Aizawa,” Vlad King’s voice startles Izuku just a little bit, and he sits up and turns to see the class 1-B homeroom teacher step into the room. “Are you okay with them doing some practical exercises today? I remember you’d mentioned them last night, and I have some free time now.” 

Aizawa nods. “Now is a good time. They’re not paying attention to what I’m saying, anyway.” His eyes slip over to Izuku, who feels his face heating up just the slightest bit, knowing he’s caught. Aizawa sighs, stepping away from the white board and running a hand through his hair, before they  _ all _ freeze.

“ **Everyone** ,” a voice in their heads says, loud and clear. Izuku blinks, tensing up in his seat.

“It’s Mandalay’s quirk,” Kirishima says, tipping his head back to look up at the ceiling, like it’s an intercom announcement. Aizawa shushes him, his brows furrowing. Izuku clenches his jaw tight.

“ **Two villains have invaded. There are likely more,** ” she says, booming through their minds. Izuku hears a soft gasp from one of the other students, but he’s not sure who. “ **If you are able to do so safely, get to the building immediately. If you encounter an enemy, do not engage. I repeat, do not engage. Continue your retreat.** ” Mandalay’s voice is firm and calm, unwavering. Aizawa had  _ just _ been telling them about that, about how to communicate in a crisis, about how to be reassuring yet firm. Izuku grits his teeth, watching as Aizawa grimaces, turning to Vlad King.

“Kan, you keep an eye on things here,” he says. “I’m going.” He whips around as soon as Vlad King nods, his expression grim. Izuku watches Aizawa storm out of the building, all dark hair and pale capture scarf, and Izuku finds himself squeezing his hands into fists.

“How did the villains find us here?” Monoma asks, his voice shaky. Izuku turns to see him staring at Vlad King, eyes wide. “I thought it was supposed to be secret. Foolproof.” His hands are shaking, Izuku notes. Vlad King meets his student’s gaze, his expression calm but serious.

“I don’t know how they found us, Monoma, but we’ll be okay,” he says. “You’re safe here.” His eyes ghost over Izuku, Kirishima, and Satou. “All of you.” Izuku nods, more so that the other kids can see it than because he actually believes it.  _ Look assured, even if you aren’t. Be honest, but not brutally so. Hide your emotions, but not the reality of the situation _ . Izuku is thinking that last lesson was a little too on the nose. 

There’s the sound of a shout outside, a wave of crackling blue light that shines too bright through the windows, and Izuku blinks, trying to push the sunspots out of his vision. Vlad moves quickly to the door, standing in front of it protectively, but Izuku hears the fire,  _ feels _ the heat, and he knows it’s not going to be enough. He has the sense to tense up and squeeze his eyes shut as a blast, loud and painful in his ears, rocks the room. Izuku grits his teeth, holding his hands in front of his face and hissing as he hears the sound of glass shattering, of fire crackling and popping.

When Izuku opens his eyes, when the air clears, he sees Vlad, slamming a wave of thick, glossy blood into a villain with scarred skin and dark hair. Izuku blinks, because that’s  _ Dabi _ , the villain he’d seen as Ace not long ago. The room is lit in neon blue fire as Vlad King’s blood crystallizes and hardens around the villain, and Izuku is already moving, running and turning his head back.

“Vlad-sensei, we’re getting out of the fire!” He shouts, then looks at Kirishima and Satou, who follow him immediately. “Monoma,” Izuku calls. “We have to get out of here. Vlad-sensei can’t fight as well if he has to protect us,” he explains. Monoma blinks, glancing at his teacher, who grunts and slams his elbow into Dabi’s skull.

“Go,” he says. “But not far.” His voice is strained, slightly, but it’s enough for Izuku to turn and run, his feet pounding against the ground as he runs from the burning building, from the bright flames that lick at his skin. It’s when he steps out onto the ground, when he sees the red dirt turned violet from the blue of the fire that it occurs to him.

“Kouta,” he breathes, his eyes widening as he whips his head back to look at the others. Kirishima and Satou burst out of the building, with Monoma fast on their trail. Izuku swallows.

“I have to go,” he says. “Kouta--the kid--I want to make sure he’s safe,” he sputters out, turning and moving toward the ridge he’d walked up earlier, the path he’d followed to bring Kouta his dinner. It’s brighter, now, but only because the forest is on fire, glowing blue. It casts an eerie glow over the ground, painting everything in pale, cool tones. Izuku hears the footsteps behind him before he hears the words. 

“You can’t just go off alone,” Monoma snaps as he runs after him. “You really are as reckless and stupid as they say.” Izuku glances to the side, sees Monoma’s face, drawn with worry and irritation. Izuku swallows.

“Okay,” he says. “But I need to go and get Kouta. He was out here, at his secret hideout.” He gestures with one hand at the space in front of them, where the path they’re following curves gently. Izuku sees Monoma about to reply, his mouth open ever so slightly, when they turn the corner.

Izuku sees Kouta, first. He’s lying on the ground, on his side, almost in the fetal position except his left wrist is clearly broken, twisted and swollen and bruised nearly black. His head is covered in thick, dark blood, half-dried and glistening, reflecting the light of the fire that burns in the forest around them. Izuku thinks the worst part might be his eyes--not just the way they’re open, either. Kouta’s eyes are open, shiny and wet, but there’s dirt in them, red dust clinging to the whites of his eyes, and there’s blood, too, blood that’s run from above his hairline, through his dark eyebrow and into his right eye, the one that’s on top with how he’s angled. His eyes are open, dirty, bloody, and he isn’t blinking. 

It’s that, that tells Izuku he’s dead, even more than the way there’s too much blood staining the ground ahead, the way Kouta’s neck is at a strange angle, the way he isn’t breathing. It’s just his eyes, unmoving and unblinking, dirtied and dull, that give it away for Izuku. Izuku thinks he might be sick, but he doesn’t have time to be, not when Monoma gasps a sharp breath of air next to him, not when a huge, hulking figure of a man steps forward from the shadows ahead of them, a wide, evil grin in his face. He moves slowly, confidently, until he’s standing over Kouta. He looks down at the body, grins wider, then takes another step forward. There’s a crunching noise, and Kouta’s body bends, twists, but what makes bile rise in Izuku’s throat is the way Kouta doesn’t even twitch, even when his ribs are being crushed. 

Izuku raises a hand to press to his mouth, feeling his breaths come quick and uneven, but he still moves without thinking, stepping to stand between Monoma and the villain. He looks up at the villain, a tall, blonde man with muscles that show clearly on his bare skin. His left eye is marred by a scar, a deep red cut that goes from his forehead to his jaw, leaving his eye exposed and unnatural looking. Izuku bends into a fighting stance, even as the wind whips around them, brushing blue embers and grey soot through the air. 

“Well well well,” the villain says, eyes narrowing. “What do we have here? Another two playthings?” He steps forward, flexing his arm, and red swirls of muscle bulge unnaturally from the skin.  _ His quirk _ , Izuku thinks. 

“Midoriya,” Monoma whispers from behind him. “We have to run,” he says, voice shaky. Izuku takes a deep breath, nods.

“You go,” he says, quiet. “I’ll distract him.” The villain arches his eyebrow. 

“I can hear you, you know,” the villain says, chuckling. “And I’m not gonna let you go. You’re Midoriya and Monoma, right?” He tips his head to the side. “I’ve got orders to kill one of you and capture the other, so it looks like I’m in for a good time.” He steps forward, swinging out with a punch that Izuku dodges by just a breath. 

“Which one is which?” Izuku asks. “Who are you after?” His blood rushes in his ears, and he realizes he’s  _ unarmed _ . There’d been no reason to have knives in the remedial lesson, after all.

“I’m supposed to capture Monoma and some kid named Bakugou. Shigaraki wanted you dead, and I’m happy to oblige,” the villain says, an unconcerned look on his face as he rushes forward, his arm growing and twisting with fibers of pink and red as he throws a punch, this one far too fast for Izuku to possibly evade. It slams him back, sends a burst of pain through his ribs and throws him back. Izuku feels Monoma’s hands on his shoulders, steadying him, and he only has time to glance up before there’s another fist slamming into him, crushing them both into the ground. 

Izuku’s vision goes white around the edges as his head bounces off the ground, sending a blinding flash of pain through his skull. He can feel that Monoma is underneath him, breathing hard and fast, and Izuku recognizes, dully, the sensation of bleeding. He picks his head up to look down at himself, though, and he doesn’t see blood, only that his ribcage is  _ wrong _ , bent and smashed and hurt. He blinks rapidly, trying to clear his vision, trying to force himself upright, but all he can manage is rolling onto his side, off of Monoma.

“Monoma,” he gasps, squeezing his eyes shut and coughing. “R-Run,” he says. He tastes blood in his mouth, feels the way his left side won’t seem to inflate, even when he tries to suck air in with all of his might. When he opens his eyes, his vision is blurring, warping.

“C-Can’t,” Monoma says, voice broken and weak. “My... my spine,” he says, gasping between each word, and that’s when Izuku turns his head, ignoring the flash of pain that sends through his temples, and he sees Monoma, really sees him. He can’t see the worst injury, can’t see what’s really wrong, but he  _ can  _ see the way Monoma’s face is too pale, the way his chest is barely rising and falling. He can see that way Monoma is blinking and biting at his lip, the way his hands are scrabbling at the ground, digging into the packed dirt, the way his shoulders are shaking, the way every part of him, from the waist up, is constant movement, frantic and desperate. Izuku can also see the way that Monoma’s legs aren’t moving at all, lying still and limp on the ground. Monoma wheezes as he breathes, and Izuku crawls forward, turning the motion into a lunge as he sees the villain grabbing for Monoma.

Izuku feels the villain try to swat him aside, but he throws himself over Monoma, clinging to the other boy’s t-shirt and guarding him with his body. Izuku can’t see, because he’s face down and his eyes are clenched shut so that he doesn’t have to see the way his vision’s started to go, but he feels the way the villain slams a foot down on top of him, crushing him down into Monoma. Izuku does his best to hold himself off of the other boy, to keep him safe from the worst of it, but he can feel the blood rising in his throat with each breath, can feel the familiar dull euphoria that comes with bleeding out, even though he has no visible injuries. He feels the way Monoma’s breathing is  _ wrong _ the way his chest is fluttering below him, different from the way people breathe when they’re panicking. He can feel Monoma’s hands come up to clutch at the collar of Izuku’s shirt, fingers bloody from scraping in the dirt, grabbing at Izuku like he’s the only thing keeping Monoma in this world.

“I-It’s okay,” Izuku gasps out, forcing his eyes open to look down at Monoma. Monoma’s face is  _ wrong _ , his lips a grey-blue that can’t be from the firelight alone, his eyes bloodshot and twitching oddly. He gasps, little weak breaths that do nothing, and Izuku winces as the villain laughs from above them.

“Oops,” the man says, although he doesn’t sound that upset. “It’s whatever.  _ My _ boss wanted Bakugou, anyway. I’ll just tell them I had no choice but to kill both of you brats.” Izuku braces himself, tenses the shaking muscles in his back, and he forces himself to make eye contact with Monoma, who looks distant, like he can’t hear what the villain’s saying, like his blue eyes can’t even see Izuku right in front of him.

“It’s okay, Monoma,” Izuku whispers. “We’ll come back. I can fix this.” The words leave his mouth, and moments later, he feels an impact that strikes the back of his head, hard. He doesn’t feel anything, after that. 

\--

Izuku opens his eyes, and it’s only because he’s done this so many times before that he doesn’t gasp, doesn’t whimper or shout. He blinks, rapidly, clearing his vision, and the second he does, he turns at the sound of someone retching. Monoma is bent over in his chair, gasping with both hands buried in his hair, his eyes open wide. He’s shaking, his breaths coming too fast and too quick, and the only thing Izuku can think is a very empathetic  _ fuck _ . 

“Monoma?” Aizawa is moving forward in an instant, crouching at Monoma’s side. “What’s going on?” He reaches out a hand, maybe to check Monoma’s temperature or to uncurl his hands from his hair, where they’re tugging too hard, but Monoma flinches back, throwing himself away from Aizawa and out of the chair, eyes wild. 

“M-M-Midoriya--” Monoma chokes out, shaking his head, swallowing visibly. “Y-You, your quirk, it--” he stops, cutting himself off with a heavy sob, and Izuku stands up.

“You copied my quirk?” he asks, blinking, walking over to him. He does his best to look confused, for Aizawa, who’s watching them both with furrowed brows and concern clear on his face, even though Izuku knows, without a doubt that Monoma copied it. 

“Y-You...” Monoma sobs, digging his fingers into his scalp and shutting his eyes, open to open them again quickly, like he didn’t like what he’d seen. Izuku steps forward, crouching in front of Monoma, like Aizawa had before, except when Izuku reaches out, setting a hand on Monoma’s knee and squeezing, Monoma only flinches a little bit, his eyes dropping to stare at his legs. 

“You can feel that, right?” Izuku whispers. He reaches out, pulling Monoma into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around the other boy’s back and his mouth next to his ear, where he whispers, as softly as possible. “My quirk takes me back in time when I die. Neither of us is hurt. You need to calm down. Take deep breaths, okay?” He feels Monoma nods, shaky, feels the other boy's arms drop from his head to clutch at the front of Izuku’s shirt, like they had just before they died.

“G-God,” Monoma whispers into his ear, his breathing still shaky, but slightly slower. “W-What the  _ fuck _ , Midoriya?” he asks, a wet laugh bubbling up in his throat. 

“You can’t tell anyone about my quirk,” Izuku whispers. “I need to get out of here, quickly, to save Kouta.” Monoma nods into his shoulder, and Izuku pulls back, gently. Monoma unlatches from the front of Izuku’s shirt and wipes at his eyes, red-rimmed and wet, with the back of his hand. Izuku sits back on his heels, then turns his head to the side.

“Better?” he asks, at normal volume. “I wish you hadn’t copied it, you know. I didn’t want to know if I had one.” Monoma meets his eyes, a silent agreement passing between them.

“Yeah, well, I wish I hadn’t, either,” Monoma says, rolling his eyes and lurching to his feet. “You’d think you’d know you had one, if it hurts that badly just having it.” Izuku stands, too, and near them, Aizawa rises as well, a deep furrow to his brow.

“What do you mean?” Izuku asks. “It doesn’t hurt me,” he says. “I didn’t even know it was  _ there _ .”

Monoma shrugs, dusting off the front of his sweats with his hands. “Maybe you’re just used to it, I don’t know,” he says, sighing, and Izuku is struck by just how good of an actor Monoma can be. Izuku stands up, too, but doesn’t return to his seat.

“Explain,” Aizawa orders, his eyes narrowed at the two of them. “What happened?”

“I copied this idiot’s quirk,” Monoma says, jerking a thumb over at him, “by mistake, and turns out not only does he have one, but it feels  _ awful _ .” He shrugs. “Not the first time a quirk has felt wrong, but it’s got to be the worst one yet.” Aizawa raises an eyebrow.

“You didn’t touch him,” he says, voice even. “You have to touch someone to copy their quirk.”

Monoma shrugs. “I must have,” he says, voice light even though his eyes are still rimmed red and there’s a small pool of his vomit on the floor. “I didn’t intend to, believe me.” He makes a disgusted face. “And I am  _ never _ doing that again. I don’t know how Midoriya stands it.” His eyes dart over to Izuku’s and Izuku gets it.  _ He doesn’t understand how I’ve kept it secret _ .

“Wait, what’s his quirk, then?” Kirishima asks from his seat next to Satou’s. “I thought he was quirkless.” 

Izuku bites at his lip. “I-I don’t have the toe joint,” he explains, “but I never manifested one, so I’m legally quirkless, but I  _ probably _ have a latent quirk that just won’t ever show up.” He laughs, nervously, and rubs the back of his head. “Well, I guess I know for sure that I have one, now.” The door opens, and when Izuku turns, surprised, he sees Vlad King. The man looks the room over, one brow raising.

“What happened?” he asks, his gaze catching on the way Aizawa, Monoma, and Izuku are all standing up, then the pool of vomit on the floor. “Is everything okay?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Aizawa says, eyes narrowed at Izuku. “Monoma apparently copied Midoriya’s quirk, which resulted in him having a panic attack, and now they’re both hiding something.” Izuku swallows, but he knows they won’t have to keep this up much longer, because--

“ **Everyone!** ” Mandalay’s quirk fills his head, and this time, Izuku can see everyone but him and Monoma start slightly. 

“That’s Mandalay’s quirk,” Kirishima says and tilts his head back, just like before. 

“ **Two villains have invaded. There are likely more,** ” she says, voice clear and familiar. Izuku has a sinking feeling he’ll be hearing this a few more times. “ **If you are able to do so safely, get to the building immediately. If you encounter an enemy, do not engage. I repeat, do not engage. Continue your retreat.** ” Izuku glances at Monoma, who doesn’t nod, instead blinking slowly, intentionally. Izuku can see out of the corner of his eye as Aizawa grimaces, turning to Vlad King.

“We can figure out whatever  _ that _ was later,” he says, gesturing to Izuku and Monoma. “You watch things here, and I’ll go and help the other students.” Vlad King nods, and Aizawa is off, running with his capture weapon fluttering at his neck. Izuku swallows.

“Vlad-sensei,” he says, and Vlad turns to him, frowning. “I need to go check on something. I think Kouta is still outside, at his secret base. I know where it is, from when I brought him dinner.” Vlad’s eyes widen ever so slightly.

“Damn,” Vlad King says, shaking his head. “Okay. You go and alert Mandalay, so that she can get the word out for one of us pros to go and get him.” He frowns. “Take someone with you, and come straight back here.”

“I’ll go,” Monoma says. “I’ve been sparring with him for the past few days, so if we get into trouble, we’ll fight well together,” he says, making eye contact with his teacher, who raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you two,” he says, his gaze darting over to Izuku, “but do  _ not _ fight, unless you have no other choice.” He sighs, shaking his head. “I’ll allow it, but only because there’s a kid out there. Any other situation, and you’d be staying right here, do you understand?” He bites his lip. “Damn. I  _ really _ wish there was cell service out here.” Izuku looks to Monoma, nods.

“We’ll be quick,” Izuku says, and then they’re going, jogs forward and through the door. 

“Be careful!” Vlad shouts from inside, and Izuku and Monoma push their way out of the door just in time to see Aizawa hiss and activate his quirk on Dabi, not even looking back at the students.

“What are you  _ doing _ ?” Aizawa growls. “Get back inside.” He whips out his capture weapon, dragging Dabi to the ground. The villain grunts as the air is knocked out of him.

“Kouta is still out here,” Izuku says, still running. “We’re going to make sure he’s safe. Vlad King-sensei said it was alright.” 

“Midoriya, don’t--” Aizawa shouts, but he cuts himself off. Izuku glances back to see him kicking Dabi back to the ground; the villain must have tried to get up. Izuku turns his head back to face forward and keeps running, Monoma keeping pace at his side. It’s only when they’re a good way away from Aizawa and Dabi that Monoma asks the question Izuku’s been expecting.

“Midoriya,” Monoma says, voice almost a growl. “What the  _ fuck _ is your quirk?”

Izuku chuckles nervously. “Uh. When I die, I go back in time a little?” He swallows. “I’m not totally sure how it works. I didn’t expect you to remember, when we died.” 

“Yeah, me neither,” Monoma says, voice sarcastic. “So, does time just go back, or do you jump timelines? And is it just when you die?” 

“I-I don’t actually know?” Izuku says, his feet pounding against the hard-packed earth beneath their feet, the forest ablaze in blue around them. “I-I mean, it’s only ever activated when I die, so I know that at least, but I don’t know how it works, really. I don’t get to pick where I go back to or anything, either.” 

“How long have you had it, anyway?” Monoma asks, throwing a glance at Izuku.

“Since this February,” Izuku says in reply, biting at his lower lip. “Well, that’s when I died for the first time, anyway.”

“Jesus,” Monoma says, shaking his head. “I knew you 1-A freaks were crazy, but this is another level.” He sighs, the sound of it sharp. “Well, I’m glad that you have it. Would have been one shitty way to go.” 

Izuku snorts. “Yeah. It’s definitely one of the worst.” He swallows. “You remember everything?”

“I think so,” Monoma says. “It was really fuzzy at the end, there, but I’d actually like to remember a little less of the choking to death part.” 

Izuku nods. “People have remembered... pieces, before, if I was touching them when I died. Well, just one person, actually.”

“Who?” Monoma asks, just before they turn the corner. This is where they’d seen the body, last time. Izuku can only hope they’re not too late.

“Todoroki,” Izuku says, because there’s not much point in hiding it, not if Monoma already knows about the quirk. He does lower his voice, though, and he’s glad he did when they turn the corner and Izuku sees the form of the villain, towering over Kouta where the boy is on his ass on the ground, his hands pressed into the dirt behind him to hold him up and his eyes wet with tears that haven’t spilled out yet, but will soon. The villain glances up as Izuku and Monoma run into the area, his eyes lighting up. 

“Oh hoh, what’s this?” He tips his head slightly to the side. “Two new playthings?” 

“We’re here to save you, Kouta,” Izuku says, ignoring the villain. “I’m sorry it took us this long, but we’re here now. You’re going to be just fine.”

The villain laughs. “What are you, stupid? You two, save him?” He points at the kid. “Haven’t you heard of me? The villain, Muscular. I’m kind of a big deal,” he chuckles under his breath. “I guess I’ll take the kid out first, then. I’m pretty sure one of you is on the target list and the other is on the hit list, so,” he says, grinning wide. Izuku glances to Monoma, who’s gone slightly pale, the scowl on his lips a little too deep. Izuku hates that he can’t do anything to help, but Monoma could have stayed back, if he wanted to. 

“Don’t touch him,” Izuku grits out, and he and Muscular move at the same time, both lunging for Kouta. Izuku has the advantage of knowing what to expect, though, and even though this exact movement isn’t one he’s gone against before, he can judge how Muscular’s quirk is going to manifest as he moves. He takes the hit to his shoulder and rolls, tucking Kouta into his chest and somersaulting out of the path of the hit.

“Monoma!” he shouts, holding Kouta close to him. “Copy his quirk!” Izuku grits his teeth, pushing Kouta behind him and turning his head to speak to him. “Stay back, okay?” he says, voice as soothing as he can make it. “Between the two of us, this guy will be a piece of cake.”

“Oh, wanna bet?” Muscular laughs, rearing back to throw a punch at them, but Izuku sees Monoma behind him, darting forward and tapping Muscular’s side before his own arm grows and swells, twitching as the muscle fibers layer one on top of another. Monoma slams his fist into Muscular’s side, but Muscular barely stumbles, turning to glare at Monoma.

“I think it’ll be pretty easy,” Monoma says with a grin, stepping to the side and throwing an elbow forward at Muscular.  _ That’s one of my moves,  _ Izuku realizes.

“Really,” Muscular drawls, and then he’s grabbing Monoma’s elbow, twisting and throwing him toward Izuku and Kouta. Monoma yelps, his back slamming into the ground, and for a terrible moment, Izuku is worried that his back is broken  _ again _ , but Monoma gets up quickly, flicking his hair out of his face with a twitch of his head.

“Midoriya,” he grunts. “This is bad. His quirk relies somewhat on the preexisting muscle mass,” he says, flexing his arm. Izuku watches a layer of muscle build over it, but it doesn’t get anywhere near as big as Muscular’s own. Izuku swallows.

“Okay,” he breathes. “Okay. We need to get Kouta to safety, and then we can get help.” He clenches his hands into fists, getting into a fighting stance. “I wish I had my knives.”

“Where are they?” Monoma asks. Muscular is just watching them, walking forward slowly, like he’s enjoying it.

“In the sleeping area,” Izuku says. “Next time, if we leave right away, we’ll have time to get them.” Monoma chuckles beside him, his brows furrowing.

“Next time, huh?” He shakes his head. “Sounds like you’ve already given up.”

Izuku shrugs. “It’s not giving up if we get another chance, right?” He grimaces. “You should copy my quirk again, though, so that you don’t freak out this time.” 

Monoma sighs, reaching out to tap Izuku on the hand, where he’s holding his fist up in a fighting position. “Do we even know I’ll remember if we don’t die at the same time?”

Izuku shrugs. “No clue,” he says, biting his lip. “I don’t actually know how that aspect of it works.”

“Great,” Monoma drawls, rolling his eyes. “That’s so thoughtful of you.”

“Hey,” Muscular hisses. “Did you brats fucking forget about me? I’m going to fucking kill you,” he snarls, slamming his fist into the ground. It cracks the earth there, and Izuku hears Kouta squeak behind him. Izuku’s moving as soon as Muscular is, pulling Kouta out of the way of the next punch, but he can’t dodge it completely himself. The edge of the punch catches his arm, and this hit is more than strong enough for Izuku to gasp in pain as something in his arm  _ snaps _ . 

“Midoriya!” Monoma shouts, and Izuku looks up to see Monoma throw a glance over at him as he dodges one of Muscular’s punches. “You okay?”

“Arm’s broken, I’m fine though,” Izuku shouts back, turning to Kouta. “Can you climb on my back? I’m going to try to get you out of here.” Kouta swallows, nods.

“H-He killed my parents,” Kouta says, voice small as Izuku crouches down and the kid clambers onto his back. “I don’t wanna watch him kill you, too.” Izuku swallows.

“I know,” he says. “I’m sorry.” He doesn’t want to lie, doesn’t want to say that Kouta won’t see that, because chances are good he will. Izuku glances up, standing with Kouta on his back and his good arm wrapped around the boy’s ankle to hold him, and he already knows they don’t have much longer. Monoma is fighting Muscular, but for every hit he throws, he has to dodge two. Izuku can see that in just the short time Izuku had been picking Kouta up, Monoma’s already gained a dark bruise on his left forearm and a black eye that looks beyond painful.

Izuku grits his teeth and  _ runs _ , the pain jostling his broken arm, but he doesn't hesitate, doesn’t look back even as he runs past Muscular and Monoma. The sounds of the fight are familiar, but it makes him sick to his stomach to hear the sound of flesh against flesh and know that, this time, it’s not  _ just _ him who has to die. His brain threatens to process the fact that Monoma will die and will  _ keep _ these deaths, even if only in his memories and not his body, but Izuku pushes the thought down and pushes himself to run faster instead. 

He slides to the edge of the ridge, where the path curls, and he stops, crouching. “Kouta,” he says, quiet. “I need to help Monoma. Can you run back to Mandalay for me? She’s probably worried about you.” Kouta’s eyes are huge and wet, and he shakes his head.

“You’re gonna die!” he shouts, and Izuku grits his teeth, praying the sound won’t draw Muscular away. “You’re both gonna die, and then it’ll be my fault and you won’t come back.” He draws in a shaky little breath. “It’ll be just like mom and dad. You won’t come back and then I’ll be all alone again.”

“You wouldn’t be alone,” Izuku says. “I  _ promise _ , you will see me again, okay? Even if it’s not how you expect. No matter what, you  _ will _ see me again.” He holds up his good hand, extending a pinky. “I swear.”

“I-I’m too old for pinky promises,” Kouta says, sniffling, but he raises his tiny hand and locks pinkies with Izuku anyway. Izuku gives him a smile, feeling calmer than he should.

“Okay,” he says. “Now go and get yourself somewhere safe, okay? I’ll see you soon.” He stands up straight, watching as Kouta nods, turning and running away. Izuku takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he might see, and turns, runs back toward Monoma and Muscular.  _ I can still hear them fighting, _ he realizes _ , which is a good sign. I think _ .

Except when he turns the corner, he sees the  _ exact _ moment that Monoma’s quirk runs out of time. He sees Monoma’s legs shrink their normal size, just as he’s using them to dodge out of the way of punch, and instead of dodging, Monoma more just... slips. Izuku winces in sympathy, skidding in front of them as Muscular grins, grabbing Monoma by his arm and holding him up in the air. Monoma’s face is swollen, but Izuku can see him look over at Izuku. 

“I-I need a refresh...” Monoma says, gasping. Izuku wonders why he doesn’t copy Muscular’s quirk from the contact that holds him up, then he sees muscle fibers start to twitch a form, sluggish around Monoma’s shoulders. Izuku grits his teeth and swallows, throwing himself forward quickly and slapping one hand into Monoma’s ankle, where skin shows between his shoes and his sweatpants. Muscular growls beside him, and Izuku feels a fist close on the back of his long-sleeved shirt, jerking him down and sending him crashing into the ground. Izuku blinks stars away from his vision and pulls himself to a sitting position, just in time for Muscular to slam a foot down into Izuku’s stomach.

“Midoriya!” Monoma shouts, but Izuku can’t get up, even as he claws at Muscular’s leg with his nails, digging his fingers in and trying to pry Muscular off of him. It’s hard to breathe, with the foot pressing down on his chest, and the closest thing he can do to replying is to wheeze, a squeaking sound that rips out of his throat. Muscular presses down hard, and then his weight is gone all at once as Monoma slams into his leg, shoving him off of Izuku.

Izuku can’t get up, so he just lies there, gasping and choking on air. Monoma crouches down beside him, grabs his hands, holds them. Izuku’s confused, for a moment, why he isn’t fighting, but then Izuku tries to take in a full breath and he  _ can’t _ . It’s worse that last time, and when he drops his eyes down, he can see a hole through his ribcage, bones sticking out, blood slick over their white surface.

“I-It’s okay,” Monoma says, even though Izuku can see that his eyes are full of fear, bright and wet. “You’ll come back. You’ll come back, and we’ll do better next time, right?” He squeezes Izuku’s hands, and Izuku coughs wetly in response. Monoma winces.

“God, what the fuck is wrong with you two?” Muscular says from above them. Izuku can't see the villain, but he can see the way Monoma looks up, quickly, teeth bared.

“You’re the asshole who keeps killing kids,” he snaps, leaning over Izuku protectively. “I don’t think you’re in any position to judge, frankly.” Muscular chuckles darkly, and Izuku blinks, slow. His vision has gone out, for the most part, and all he can really make out is the blue glow of flames behind Monoma and his silhouette. 

“I’m sorry, Midoriya,” Monoma says. “I don’t think I’m going to die at the same time, this round. If I’m annoying again, you can just punch me, or something.” Izuku tries to laugh at that, but it just makes a wet gurgle somewhere in the space his lower ribs should be, and his vision goes completely dark. 

In the few seconds before everything fades away, he feels warm hands holding his own limp ones, and he begs his quirk  _ please, just this once, don’t let me be alone. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: graphic descriptions of a dead child, graphic gore (like, very graphic!), vomiting
> 
> discord: https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt
> 
> i hope you all enjoyed!! thank you as always for the unending support! im sooooo excited to write this arc


	41. summer camp, part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku and monoma find a dead body, then die! then monoma remembers (whoa) and izuku has to calm his ass down, except izuku dies again lol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HIIIIIIIII 
> 
> im so pumped ily guys sm lets DO THIS

Izuku blinks his eyes open, and he hears a sharp intake of breath to his left. He turns his head, makes eye contact with Monoma, who nods, just slightly. Izuku breathes a sigh of relief, then turns to the front of the class and raises his hand.

“Aizawa-sensei?” he asks, putting his normal level of cheer in his voice. “Can I go use the restroom?” Aizawa turns, makes eye contact with him, raising an eyebrow. 

“Sure,” he says. “But be quick.” Izuku nods, standing up, and he sees Monoma perk up. 

“Oh, maybe we should take a short break? I also need to use the bathroom,” Monoma says tipping his head to the side slightly.

“You can wait until Midoriya comes back,” Aizawa says, dully. Monoma clicks his tongue.

“I’ll be quick,” he says, standing up from his seat. Aizawa gives him an unimpressed look. “Buddy system, right?” Monoma says, a smirk climbing up his lips. Izuku walks over to the door out of the classroom building, setting his hand on the handle. 

“Midoriya can find the restroom himself,” Aizawa says, sighing. “Why do you want to go with him so badly?” he asks, arching an eyebrow. Monoma shrugs, walking forward so he’s right beside Izuku, between him and Aizawa.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he asks, winking at Aizawa. Izuku blinks as Aizawa starts slightly, then glares at Monoma, opening his mouth to say something and reaching a hand for his capture weapon. Monoma reaches up, quickly, and taps the back of Aizawa’s hand with his index finger.

“I’ll practice while I’m gone,” Monoma says, grinning. “That’ll make it better, right?” He turns nudging Izuku with an elbow, and Izuku gets the message, opening the door and rushing out of the building before Aizawa can stop either of them. Monoma stumbles out behind him, shutting the door with a breathless laugh.

“Oh my god, Monoma,” Izuku says, shaking his head. “That was--”

“Genius?” Monoma interrupts, chuckling. “C’mon, lets go get your knives before your teacher gets me. We have about six minutes.” 

Izuku nods. “Right,” he says, running to the next building over and practically throwing himself inside. It only takes him a few heartbeats to grab his knives, strapping his belt around his waist and running with his arm guards and mouthpiece in hand, breathless as he bursts out of the building. The second Monoma sees him, he starts running, sprinting across the small clearing that’s between them and the entrance to the path. 

Izuku grits his teeth, sliding on his arm guards one at a time and tightening them into place. He would talk, and he’s sure Monoma has more questions, but it takes all of his concentration to sprint and put his armor on at the same time. He straps his second arm guard into place, then opens the container that holds his razor teeth and drops it to the ground, sliding the teeth into his mouth. _Whether I die or I win, I’ll have bigger things to worry about than the case for my costume teeth._

“W-What did it feel like?” he asks, once his teeth are securely in his mouth. Monoma looks at him.

“Your quirk, or dying?” Monoma asks, arching a brow. Izuku blinks.

“Um. Both just having my quirk and... when we reset. _Did_ you die, or did it just...?” Izuku trails off, knowing Monoma understands the question.

“I didn’t die,” he says. “It was... odd.” Monoma gives himself a little shake. “It wasn’t painful, just... wrong. It felt like walking backwards, but not.” He frowns. “I couldn’t see, or anything.” He shrugs. “It was just strange.”

Izuku nods. “Is my quirk really painful? Just copying it, I mean,” he says, and Monoma shakes his head, quickly.

“No, it isn’t. Just the dying part.” He chuckles under his breath. “It just feels like any other quirk.” Izuku nods, and Monoma swallows. “We’re almost there,” he says, voice lower in volume, and Izuku nods again, feeling a bit like a bobblehead. He can see the curve in the path, can see the way that the ground bends away from them, and as they turn the corner, he sees Muscular.

It’s different, this time, because Muscular is wearing a cloak and a mask, and he’s standing with his back pressed against the cliff behind him, in shadow. He’s facing them, and Izuku sees him tilt his head when they turn the corner. Further along the ridge, Izuku can see Kouta, sitting on the ground with a stick, tracing patterns in the soil. Izuku skids to a stop, Monoma beside him, the hair already starting to rise away from Monoma’s head. Izuku doesn’t hesitate, understands the situation they’re in all too well as he charges forward, tugging his knives from his belt and running forward at Muscular. 

Muscular grunts, and Izuku can see him pause, startled, then rip off his cloak and mask in one smooth movement. He stares at his arm, flexes the muscles there, but nothing comes of it. His gaze snaps up just as Izuku lunges at him, knives slicing through air and then flesh as Muscular raises his arm, the blades sinking into the meat of his forearm. 

“Fuck!” Muscular swears, but when he says next is drowned out by Mandalay’s voice ringing through Izuku’s head. 

“ **Everyone!** ” Mandalay says as Izuku yanks his knives out of Muscular’s arm and darts forward, slashing two matching red lines on Muscular’s chest. He hisses as a knee strike, still stronger than he’s used to even without a quirk behind it, slams into his chest, just below his sternum. 

“ **Two villains have invaded. There are likely more,** ” she says, and Izuku knows he’s short on time, knows Monoma will have to blink and knows he’ll run out of the copy soon. “ **If you are able to do so safely, get to the building immediately. If you encounter an enemy, do not engage. I repeat, do not engage. Continue your retreat.** ” Izuku turns his head as Muscular grabs for his neck, and Izuku buries his teeth into Muscular’s wrist. It feels different than without the mouthpiece, and his teeth slice through so _easily_ , hot salty blood filling his mouth. His teeth stop against _bone_ , and he hears Muscular shout in surprise, trying to jerk his wrist away from Izuku’s mouth. 

“Stay back!” Izuku hears Monoma shout, but all Izuku can see is Muscular, so he just has to hope that was directed at Kouta and not him. Izuku pushes back against Muscular, grunting as Muscular kicks and punches at him, trying to rip him off of his arm. 

“Midoriya, not much longer,” Monoma says, a warning clear in his voice. At the movement, Muscular jerks, twisting.

“Oh, so _you’re_ the one stopping my quirk,” he says, pain and rage heavy in his voice. “Fucking brat,” he says, and Izuku glances up, teeth still in Muscular’s wrist. He can feel blood pulsing, _pumping_ out of the wound, and he knows it’s enough for Muscular to bleed out, given enough time, but he also knows it’ll take longer than however much time they have left. Izuku can see the smooth expanse of Muscular’s neck, the muscles that twist and turn as Muscular turns his head to the side. Izuku knows, intimately, where to aim as he stabs forward with a knife, and he buries a blade in the space between Muscular’s windpipe and neck muscle without thinking. It’s almost instinctual, and Izuku doesn’t think as he drags the blade down, slicing through flesh cleanly, before jerking it out. 

A fountain of red, glistening in the dark light and reflecting the blue flame of the forest behind them, sprays from Muscular’s neck, and Izuku’s eyes shut on instinct as hot blood splashes on his face.

“I’m blinking!” Monoma shouts, and Izuku unlatches his teeth from Muscular’s wrist and throws himself back, out of the way, but it doesn’t seem to matter, because when he wipes the blood from his eyes and looks up, braced to dodge an attack, Muscular isn’t moving toward him. He’s slumped, back against the rock face, and he’s twitching, writhing. The wound in his neck pulses a steady stream of blood that pools around him, soaking into the ground. Izuku stares, wide eyed, as Muscular struggles, fingers scraping in his own blood as he gasps, eyes open and wide, then falls still. Muscular’s eyes are half lidded, still open, and the wound in his neck still bleeds, but Izuku sees the stream of blood grow thinner, watches as the force of it pulsing out of his neck weakens with each passing second. 

“Midoriya,” Monoma says, and Izuku swallows, shaking his head. He can’t look away from Muscular, the man who’s killed him twice now drenched in his own blood, limp and still. The stream of blood has slowed to a trickle, barely anything at all, and Izuku can see an unnatural pallor to Muscular’s skin. 

“I-I killed him,” Izuku whispers, stepping back, dropping his knives. He looks down at his hands, and he sees them covered in red blood, sticky, clotting blood. It’s like glue between his fingers as he turns his hands over, watching the way the liquid gathers in the cracks and grooves in his skin. Izuku’s seen blood before, seen _lots_ of blood, but it was always, always his own. This is different. Izuku gags, but he swallows it back down, tears burning in the corners of his eyes.

“Hey,” Monoma says, and suddenly he’s a lot closer to Izuku, setting a hand on his shoulder. “We need to get Kouta somewhere safe,” he says, and when he jerks his head down and to the side, Izuku follows the movement with his eyes, his gaze landing on Kouta. Kouta is standing, eyes huge and dark and wet with tears, his hands clinging to Monoma’s sweatpants. 

“I killed him,” Izuku whispers, and Monoma sighs, nodding.

“You did. Can we save the mental breakdown for later?” he says, his hand squeezing Izuku’s shoulder. “You’re okay. We’re all alive. We need to get Kouta somewhere safe, and then you can freak out.” Izuku swallows back his panic, wipes his hands off on his shorts. They stick, slightly, and it makes him feel kind of sick, but he doesn’t think about it as Monoma leans down, giving Kouta a smile.

“I’ll carry you, okay?” he says, reaching down and picking Kouta up under the armpits, lifting him up so that he’s held to Monoma’s side, one of Monoma’s hands under his butt and the other holding his back.

“He killed my parents,” Kouta says, eyes on the dead body. “He killed my parents, and he was gonna kill me?” He looks up at Monoma, and Izuku can see that his eyes are huge and wet. Monoma nods, face solemn.

“He would have,” he says, and he glances up, his gaze meeting Izuku’s. “He would have killed all three of us, but we’re safe now.” Izuku takes a deep breath, steadying himself.

“Y-Yeah,” he says, nodding. “We’re okay now, Kouta. We’re going to go back to the camp, and we’ll get you to the pros.” He gives Kouta a weak smile, and Kouta nods, pressing his tiny face into Monoma’s arm. Izuku moves his gaze to Monoma, and when they make eye contact, they both start walking, moving back to the camp at a jog. The path back to camp isn’t blazing with that blue fire, not yet, but Izuku can see fires up ahead, blazing in the annex classroom. He can see the silhouettes of who he thinks is Kirishima, Satou, and Vlad King, running from the building and across the clearing, out of Izuku’s line of sight. Another figure runs towards them, the thin fabric of a capture scarf and the long, black hair making them recognizable as Aizawa, even backlit by blue flame.

“Midoriya, Monoma where did you--” Aizawa starts to ask, voice full of anger, but he freezes, eyes widening slightly. “Midoriya, you’re covered in blood,” he says, blinking. “What happened? Where are you injured?” Izuku shakes his head.

“I-I’m okay!” he says. “We need to leave Kouta with you, we got him away from Muscular, but I need to get a message to Mandalay.” He gestures at Monoma, who sets Kouta down, carefully. 

“Midoriya, where are you injured?” Aizawa asks again, stepping forward, his eyes raking over Izuku’s body. Izuku shakes his head again.

“I’m not,” he says, turning. “I have to tell Mandalay--” Izuku cuts himself off as Aizawa growls,

“You’re _covered_ in blood,” Aizawa says, voice thick with alarm. “You’re not going anywhere.” Izuku blinks.

“Oh, i-it’s not mine,” he says, taking a step back. “It’s, um, I--” He shakes his head, cutting himself off.

“He slashed Muscular’s--the villain’s--throat,” Monoma says. “He was going to kill us.” Izuku glances over to him, to the serious set to his face and the fire blazing in his eyes. “Now, can we go? We have information that we need Mandalay to broadcast.” Aizawa’s eyes narrow, and he scowls. Izuku opens his mouth, stared wide-eyed back at his teacher.

“I killed him,” Izuku says, voice small. “He’s dead.” Izuku takes a shaky, uneven breath.

“Yeah, and you saved our lives,” Monoma snaps at him, then glares at Aizawa. “Can we please _go_ , before Midoriya has a mental breakdown?” Aizawa blinks, nodding.

“Yes, you can go,” he says, and Izuku tenses to move, but Aizawa keeps talking. “But tell Mandalay that I’m authorizing all of the members of classes 1-A and 1-B for combat, and as _soon_ as you’re done, come back here.” His gaze flickers over the both of them. “I don’t buy that neither of you are injured.” 

Izuku sees Monoma nod sharply, and then they’re both turning and running for the woods. This part of the woods isn’t on fire, but it’s thick with heavy smoke, and it tears at Izuku’s throat and lungs as they run, pushing towards where Mandalay is supposed to be. Izuku can hear fighting up ahead, can hear the crackling of fire to his right, and he hears Monoma running to his left, just beside him. The blue light that leaks through the woods is brighter than the moonlight, and it gives an eerie sort of glow to the ground as they run, feet pounding against the earth, the forest tearing at their skin with branches and underbrush. 

“Midoriya,” Monoma says, slightly breathless from running. “After we tell Mandalay, we need to hide.” Izuku blinks, feels his brow furrow slightly.

“I need to make sure Kacchan is okay,” he says. “And Todoroki and Iida and Uraraka. They’re still out there, for all I know.” Izuku swallows, licks his chapped lower lip. It tastes like blood that isn’t his.

“Did you not hear what Muscular said?” Monoma asks, voice sharp. “They want to capture me and _kill_ you. And _clearly_ they won’t hesitate to actually do it!” He huffs out a sharp breath of air. “And who on earth is ‘Kacchan’?”

“I-It’s what I call Bakugou,” Izuku explains. “We’ve known each other since we were little, so--” he cuts himself off shaking his head. “So I’ll die again, if it’s what it takes to save him. You should hide though, you’re right.”

Monoma sighs, shaking his head beside him. “I’m not going to hide if you aren’t,” he says. “But what will you do if Bakugou or I get captured and you’re still alive? You can only go back when you die, right?” His blue eyes slide over to look at Izuku, bright from reflected firelight.

“Right,” Izuku says, throat suddenly dry. “I-If I have to, I can... I can force it.” He sees Monoma’s eyes narrow slightly, then wide suddenly.

“You’d kill yourself,” Monoma says, voice a whisper. “Midoriya, what the _fuck_ .” He shakes his head. “Yeah, I’m not going to unpack that right now. Let’s just try _not_ to have that happen.” He sighs, running a hand through his blonde hair, and Izuku watches the motion as they move through the forest.

“Sorry,” Izuku says, softly. “I didn’t want anybody to know. I didn’t--I didn’t want anybody to have to go through this.”

Monoma looks over at him, frowning, brows low. “You already were,” he says, quiet. “You’ve been going through this, alone.” He sighs. “When this is all done--” he’s cut off when they burst into a clearing, where Mandalay crutches in front of them, facing off against a villain with a lizard mutation quirk and another who has something large and wrapped in fabric resting on her shoulder. Izuku can see Tiger across the clearing, lobbing a strong punch at the female villain. 

“Mandalay!” Izuku shouts, and the hero casts a glance over her shoulder at them, her black hair swishing slightly. “Kouta is safe! He’s with Eraserhead. I need you to use your quirk to tell everyone that Aizawa-sensei authorized classes 1 A and B for combat,” he says, gritting his teeth as Mandalay dodges out of the way of a hit the lizard villain throws at her.

“Got it!” she shouts, and her quirk fires up in Izuku’s mind. “ **I have a message for everyone, from Aizawa. Classes 1-A and 1-B are hereby authorized for combat.** ” The message fades, and Mandalay is looking back over her shoulder at the two of them as she jumps forward, launching a kick that the lizard man blocks with both forearms crossed over each other. “Now, get out of here!” she shouts at them, and Izuku shakes his head, but it’s Monoma who speaks.

“The villains have a hitlist,” he says. “We know that they’re trying to capture Bakugou. They want some of us dead, as well,” he says, his eyes flitting over to Izuku. _He didn’t mention either of our places on the hitlist_ , Izuku notes, swallowing. Mandalay nods.

“ **We’ve identified one of the villain’s objectives. They are aiming to capture the student Bakugou, and intend to kill some students as well. Please, Bakugou, get to safety as soon as possible, and everyone should exercise extreme caution**.” Mandalay dodges a kick easily. “Anything else?” She asks, and Izuku shakes his head.

“We’re good now!” he says, giving her a grin, then turns to Monoma. “We should go to where the test of courage was, that’s where Kacchan and the others would be.” Monoma hesitates, then nods, and they start running through the forest again. 

“I’m going to finish what I was saying, earlier,” Monoma says. “When this is over, you should tell someone. You can’t keep doing this on your own.” Izuku shakes his head, even before Monoma’s finished talking.

“No,” he says. “I’m not going to tell anyone. You can’t tell anyone either.” His voice is firm, but higher pitched than he meant it to be, almost like he’s panicking, slightly. He supposes he kind of is. 

“Why not?” Monoma asks, blue eyes wide and lips spread in a frown. “People would treat you different. Treat you _better_ . You wouldn’t be quirkless, and you could have people _helping_ you with it, instead of having to handicap yourself by hiding it. I don’t get--” 

“People would stop me,” Izuku says, cutting Monoma off. His tone is sharp and dark. “If I told people, they’d _stop me_ . But nobody else gets it. Nobody could possibly get it.” He grits his teeth. “Monoma, I’ve seen people die over and over again. I’ve seen heroes and the police and our _teachers_ fail to save people. If I told someone, and they stopped me from dying, stopped me from killing myself, how many people would suffer because of that?” He swallows down the lump building in his throat, his breath feeling heavy and wet. “How many people would _die_ because I was too weak to bear this alone?” 

“That’s...” Monoma shakes his head. “That’s not your _fault_. You’d still save people, you’d still be a hero, you just wouldn’t be alone.” His voice is shaky. “How many times have you died, Midoriya? How many times has someone done something because they didn’t know about your quirk that ended up with you dead?” His voice is pleading. “You can’t keep this up, one of these days you--” Izuku laughs, cutting him off.

“I’ll die?” Izuku asks. “Yeah, that’s kind of the _point_ ,” he breaks off, sobbing the last word. He hates the way that he’s crying, even now, with his skin coated in the blood of a man that he killed.

“Just Aizawa or Vlad-sensei,” Monoma pleads. “Vlad-sensei knows about--he knows my secrets. They’re nothing like this, but he’s helped.” Izuku shakes his head.

“A teacher would _definitely_ stop me,” he says. “And I can't just tell anyone, not when the villains found the location of this camp, too. What if a villain hears about my quirk?” He bites his lip hard enough to draw blood. “I’ll become a target. I-I’m not stupid. People would _kill_ for my quirk, Monoma. I’m immortal.” Izuku shakes his head. “You’ll keep this secret. If you don’t, well, I can always reset until you do.”

Monoma makes a choking noise, stumbling slightly as he runs before he catches himself. “Oh my god,” he breathes. “Did you just--you just threatened to kill yourself,” he says, incredulous. “You just threatened to kill yourself, if I told someone.” He makes a small noise. “Oh my god, you are so fucked up. You do realize how fucked up that is, right?”

“I-It’s not--” Izuku shakes his head, reaches up a hand to run through his hair, tugging at the curls. “It’s not like _that_ , I-I’m just saying I’d time travel to undo it, not that I’d--” He bites his lip, chokes on the sob that rises in his throat. “I’m j-just doing what I have to do,” he says. “I’d die for you, if you died. I’d reset if you died or got captured, too, it’s not just if you told someone--it’s the _only_ way that I can be _useful_! It’s the only way I have any control, any strength at all,” he says, voice uneven and shaky and ugly, but Izuku can’t even make his heart slow in his chest right now, so he’s not sure what other options there are, really.

“Yeah,” Monoma breathes. “Fuck. This is so fucked.” He runs a hand through his hair, mirroring Izuku. “Okay. Okay, I’ll keep my mouth shut, for now. We can work this out when we’re not in the middle of a villain attack.” He sighs, giving himself a shake. “God, I knew 1-A was fucked up, but I didn’t know it was like _this_ ,” he murmurs, and Izuku swallows.

“I-I’m sorry,” Izuku says, voice thick with tears. “I’m sorry, Monoma I didn’t--I really didn’t want to get you involved,” he says, his voice shuddering around the lump in his throat. Monoma sighs.

“I know,” he murmurs, voice heavy with something Izuku thinks is regret. “It’s not your fault, Midoriya. You didn’t pick your quirk. Nobody does.” Izuku nods, and there’s so much more that he wants to say, but they’re bursting out into a path, and there’s three people in front of them, and Izuku can’t breathe.

Shouji, blood dripping from multiple wounds like gunshots in the membranes of his arms, is standing, guarding Tokoyami’s unconscious form where he lies in a heap on the ground, blood spilling from a gash on the side of his head, trickling along his dark feathers and dripping slowly onto the earth. He’s breathing, his chest rising and falling quickly, but it doesn’t make Izuku feel any better, because just in front of them, blocking the way further along the path, there’s someone else he recognizes.

Leadfoot is hovering a few feet above the ground, her metal platform boots and the bands around her arms and legs glowing a faint violet. Her mask and metal ears glow, too, but what stands out is the swirling cloud of tiny metal balls spinning around her, making a field of what looks like _bullets_ , whipping through the air with whistling noises. The wounds on Shouji’s arms, the scrapes on his face and the cuts in the trees nearby all make sense, and Izuku swallows back his fear as Leadfoot’s gaze turns to him and Monoma where they’d just emerged from the woods.

“Oh,” she says. “Well, that saves me the trouble of looking, I guess.” She sounds strangely disappointed. “You should leave, now,” she says, gesturing at Shouji. The bullets-- _ball bearings,_ Izuku realizes--around her move out of the way of her hand, like they’re repelled. Shouji leans into a fighting stance, his brows low and angry.

“I’m not going to leave my friends here to fight you,” Shouji says from a mouth that opens on one of his arms. He glances to where Izuku and Monoma are standing. “She can manipulate metal, but it’s just whatever she’s brought with her. Tokoyami lost control of Dark Shadow and took out her partner, but when he tried to attack her,” he nods to Leadfoot, “she hit him with one of those blades on her head.” 

Leadfoot crosses her arms over her chest. “I could have killed him,” she says. “I normally _would_ , but I’m after certain students right now, so if you two,” she gestures to Izuku and Monoma, “would come with me, that would make this a lot less painful for everyone involved.”

“I thought Midoriya was on the kill list,” Monoma says, taking a step forward, setting himself just in front of Izuku. Izuku reaches out a hand, brushing his fingers against Monoma’s palm, and Monoma glances over his shoulder at him, nods slightly.

“He is,” Leadfoot says, cocking her head to the side. “I can make it painless, though.” Izuku swallows, because he knows first hand that she can. 

“None of our quirks are a good counter to hers,” Izuku says. “But I know some that are.” He glances to Shouji, who nods, and Leadfoot sighs. 

“I’m not going to let you run,” she starts, and then there’s the sound of gunshot from the woods, and she blinks, turning her head to look in the direction of the noise.

“Go!” Monoma whispers, and suddenly he’s pushing Izuku out into the path and running in front of him, between Leadfoot and the other students. Izuku blinks, then he puts it together. _If he’s on the capture list, he’s the only one she can’t kill_ , he thinks, gritting his teeth and ducking down, grabbing Tokoyami by the collar of his shirt and hauling him up. Izuku hears Monoma curse, his voice heavy with pain, but he doesn’t let himself look, instead handing Tokoyami off to Shouji.

“Sensei is back at the camp,” he says, meeting Shouji’s eyes. “We’ll be fine. Run!” Shouji nods, scooping Tokoyami up in his bleeding arms, and running in the direction Izuku and Monoma had come from. Izuku whips around to see Monoma standing in front of Leadfoot, one hand clutched over a bleeding wound on his upper arm and a grimace on his face. 

“You’re really not very smart, are you?” Leadfoot asks, sighing and floating lower to the ground. She raises a hand, and suddenly a halo of ball bearings, all made of the same dark metal, are hovering around Monoma, like a cage. “Captured,” she says, sounding tired. 

“Leadfoot,” Izuku says, and her gaze snaps up to him. “It’s lead, isn’t it?” he asks, tipping his head to the side. “Your quirk only works on one type of metal.” Monoma glances back at him, a confused gleam to his eyes.

“How do you know my name?” she asks, frowning. “I don’t think anyone’s said it in front of you.” Izuku shrugs, gives her the smallest hint of a smile.

“Same way I know that Fangirl is named Manami,” he says, staring through the holes of her mask to meet her eyes. “Same way I know you’re on the diplomatic team. Or were, I guess.” Leadfoot blinks, then sighs.

“You’ve gotten better at stealth, haven’t you?” she asks, and as she shakes her head, Izuku meets Monoma’s eyes again, flicks them back and forth from him and Leadfoot. 

“I have,” Izuku replies. “I’ve been so close that I could _reach out and touch you_ ,” he says, and he sees the way realization spills over Monoma’s face, and then the boy is darting a hand out, reaching for the exposed skin on Leadfoot’s wrist. A ball bearing whips forward, digging into Monoma’s forearm, and Izuku can hear him hiss in pain, but then all of the ball bearings suddenly freeze in midair, even the ones that had been swirling around Leadfoot like a cloud of angry gnats. Leadfoot steps back, eyes wide, and raises a hand, shaking slightly. The ball bearings twitch, and Monoma grunts, dropping to one knee.

“Midoriya,” he gasps. “This is--She’s stronger than me,” he says, and Izuku gets the message. He runs forward, flicking his wrist and whipping out a knife that he slashes at Leadfoot’s chest, slicing through the fabric there and creating a line of exposed skin that bleeds dark red, almost invisible on the dark fabric of her suit. Leadfoot hisses, trying to move back again, but Izuku sees a flash of purple at her boots, and her feet don’t lift. Instead, she tumbles backwards, swearing as she lands on her ass on the ground, and then Izuku is running as fast as he can, tearing away from her. He hears Monoma’s footsteps beside his, his breath coming too quick, and when he glances over, he sees a thin trail of blood running from his nose and onto his upper lip before he raises an arm and wipes it away.

“Are you okay?” Izuku asks, breath coming fast from running. Monoma nods.

“Y-Yeah,” he gasps. “It hurts, her quirk. Like arm wrestling with your brain,” he says, coughing and spitting up a glob of dark blood. “‘S from my nose,” he says, glancing over at Izuku, and Izuku just nods, pressing his lips into a thin line. They run through the woods, but it’s only a short distance before they’re on another piece of the path, skidding to a halt in front of a sheet of ice that rises in front of them.

“Todoroki!” Izuku gasps, a smile splitting his face. “It’s me and Monoma!” he shouts, and the ice wall is knocked away by a blast just as quickly as it’d formed. Izuku blinks, looking at Kacchan and Todoroki where they stand side by side. Kacchan’s face and upper body are covered in small cuts, little pieces of something white and shiny embedded in them. It looks almost like a shattered plate, and Todoroki has a few similar wounds on his leg. On Todoroki’s upper arm, on his left side, there’s a bandage tied haphazardly, blood seeping through, and it takes Izuku noticing that Kacchan’s shirt is ripped at the bottom to realize that it’s a piece of his t-shirt. 

“Midoriya,” Todoroki says, his eyes wide and his brows furrowed. “Are you--”

“I’m fine!” Izuku says, waving his hands in front of his body. “It’s not my blood.” Monoma beside him, tips his head to the side.

“What about you two? That looks nasty, Todoroki,” he says gesturing to the bloodied cloth on his arm. Todoroki glances down at it. 

“We fought a villain calling herself Dollface,” he says. “She seemed to be able to create ceramic. I’m not entirely sure how it worked.” He looks back up at them. “She’s been neutralized.”

Kacchan snorts. “Yeah, no thanks to you! Turns out that fuckin’ porcelain or whatever ain’t so great against explosions,” he says his palms crackling at his sides. 

“We should get you somewhere safe,” Izuku says, looking to Kacchan. “You're on the villain’s list.”

“So is he,” Todoroki says, gesturing to Monoma. “Our opponent liked to talk,” Todoroki says by way of explanation, and Izuku nods. 

“We should get to safety,” he says. “All of us. We don’t know what the villains want, other than Monoma and Kacchan.” Kacchan growls.

“I don’t need your fucking protection,” he hisses, folding his arms over his chest. “I can take care of myself.”

“This isn’t the time to put on a tough act,” Todoroki says, face calm. “We don’t know how many villains are here, or who we’re up against. Retreating is the best option.” 

Monoma nods. “I agree. There’s no reason to stay out here anymore, anyway.” He glances to Izuku, and Izuku bites his lip before nodding.

“I’d like to get everyone, but I don’t think it’s possible...” he sighs, swallowing. “We’ll have to trust that everyone is strong enough to survive,” he says, even though he hates it. _If someone dies_ , he thinks, _I’ll just kill myself and try again._

“Whatever,” Kacchan huffs, scowling. “This is fucking stupid. I could take any of these freaks.” Todoroki rolls his eyes beside him, and it surprises Izuku so much that he can feel his eyes widen the slightest bit. He shakes it off though.

“Todoroki, you can take the front,” he says. “We can have Kacchan and Monoma in the middle, and I’ll take the back.” He swallows. “That way, they have to get through one of us to get either of them.”

“That’s fucking stupid,” Kacchan says. “Put Todoroki in front and me in back. Two strongest quirks should take the two most vulnerable positions.” Izuku blinks, opening his mouth to respond, but Monoma huffs out a laugh from beside him.

“In this close of quarters, I have the strongest quirk,” he says, shrugging. “Why don’t we have Todoroki in front and the three of us can all take the rear? The path is wide enough,” he says, gesturing. Kacchan’s eyes narrow, and he growls low under his breath.

“That sounds fine to me,” Todoroki says, cutting off whatever Kacchan had been about to complain. “We should get going, though.” Izuku nods, and Todoroki starts walking, leading the way back toward the camp. Kacchan walks on Izuku’s left, Monoma on his right, and they start to move along the path, walking quickly but not jogging.

Moving at this pace, the forest is louder, it seems. Izuku hates the way that he can still hear the distant sounds of fighting, but not as much as he hates that he can hear the fires where they must be spreading. It’s a roar, almost, a crackling backdrop to their trek along the path, and between that and the way Izuku can hear the dulled sounds of shouting, of crashing through trees, he almost doesn’t hear a sound he’s grown used to listening to. 

From behind them, Izuku hears a series of quick, light footsteps, and by the time he’s turning, Kacchan is already gone, a smooth blue marble clutched in a gloved hand in his place. Izuku opens his mouth to shout, to say something, but he sees the villain, cloaked in dark robes and wearing a strange mask, reach for Monoma, and Izuku moves without thinking. He shoves Monoma, _hard_ , and it sends his friend stumbling away, shouting in surprise. Izuku bites his lip, watches Monoma catch himself and watches a blaze of red fire spark and grow from Todoroki, but it’s the last thing he sees. His vision tunnels, bends and tints blue, and then he sees nothing at all.

\--

The space inside the marble is dull, fuzzy. Izuku isn’t conscious, not really, but he can tell that he’s being moved, that there’s noise. He can't react, though, can’t think or move or talk, so he floats, distant. He feels like he’s underwater, but he isn’t drowning. 

The only thing that breaks through the haze of it, the deep blue that permeates his being, is the sensation of fingers, cool and bare, touching the outside of the marble, almost catching it. They’re different from the hands of the man who’d captured him--Izuku can’t feel the gloved hands. Izuku tries his best, urges himself to move, to slip into the hand of the person reaching out for him, but it doesn’t work. He slips back into nothing.

And then he’s out, just like that, the world splitting open into reality, except he’s waist deep in a swirling dark mist that makes him think of Thirteen and the USJ and Shigaraki choking him. He’s reaching out, eyes wide as he stares at the faces of his friends--Uraraka, Tsuyu, Kaminari, Ashido, Monoma, and Todoroki--all reaching for him with desperate, terrified looks on their faces. Beside him, Izuku feels movement in the portal, and he turns to see Kacchan beside him, deeper in the portal by a few feet, struggling at the mist, trying to pry himself out. Izuku opens his mouth shouts,

“Kacchan!” and then he’s under again, back in a cocoon of blue that makes him want to scream, makes him wish he could _feel_ something so that he could react, so that he could pull himself out of the ball of empty he’s curled up in. But he can’t, and the longer he spends like this, compressed and small and blue, the less he can think. Izuku floats, lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: murder, i think there's vomiting in there but idk actually
> 
> discord: https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt
> 
> HEY GUYS DFHGDFHGDF god im so sososososo hyped rn yall don't even KNOW and :D :D 
> 
> thank you all for the support!!!!! this story is heating up dkjfghdfk im just so freaking excited! see yall tomorrow :D
> 
> oh, and this is the last chapter of the summer camp arc! next is, well.... you'll see


	42. captivity, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku commits homicide on muscular, runs through the forest fighting people, and then becomes a marble as he and kacchan get kidnapped majorly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiiiiiiiiii im so excited about this arc <3

Izuku blinks his eyes open as he tumbles out of the marble and onto a wooden floor, his head spinning. He hears gasping beside him, and when he jerks his head up, he sees Kacchan, kneeling on the ground and whipping his head around, taking in their surroundings.

“Kacchan?” Izuku asks, and then chokes on his words as something heavy slams into his chest. He blinks, looking up to see the female villain who’d been fighting against Tiger, holding whatever her heavy weapon actually is to his chest. 

“Magne,” a voice says, and Izuku turns to see Kurogiri shake his head. Izuku blinks, glancing around, and he swallows. Leadfoot and Manami are standing off to the side, with a girl about his age clinging to Manami’s arm, her golden eyes marked with the hearts that mean Manami’s quirk is activated on her. Her blonde hair is tied up on two matching buns, and when Izuku makes eye contact with her, she giggles.

“Aw, he’s so  _ cute _ ,” she says, voice sing-song. “I really just want to get in there and squish his cheeks and  _ stab _ him!” She giggles, then jerks forward, but Manami grabs her by the biceps and tugs her back, grinning. Kacchan growls from his place beside Izuku, but Magne or whoever she is slams her weapon back into his head and he crashes to the ground, eyes still open but narrowed in pain.

“I know, right? But he’s ours, Toga. You guys get the other one.” Manami laughs, and Toga goes along with her, giggling and grinning. Izuku feels like he’s missing something. He glances around the room, still feeling dazed, and he sees Kurogiri, Shigaraki, and a woman with long, white-blonde hair that hangs almost to her knees wearing a cream colored suit, completely covered in soot and explosion marks that Izuku recognizes from years of being tormented by Kacchan. She’s leaning heavily on the masked man with the top hat, her breaths coming quickly and unevenly, and her arms are wrapped around her midsection tightly, like she’s trying to hold herself together. Izuku swallows, shifts his gaze further.

He sees Mr. Clean standing beside Dabi, leaning about as far away from the other guy as he possibly can. On Dabi’s other side, there’s the lizard mutation villain, looking annoyed, and some guy who kind of looks like Deadpool from the old American comics. The lizard guy sighs, then looks over to where Leadfoot and Manami are standing.

“He’s not even your original target,” he says, scowling. “What are you going to do with him, anyway? Stain saved him, so if you’re just going to kill him, I don’t think it’s something I could easily accept.” Leadfoot tips her head to the side, putting one hand on her hip.

“It’s none of your business what we do with him, Spinner,” she says. “You and yours failed to hold up your end of the deal, after all. You got your primary target, so it’s only fair the Gekkeiju take the consolation prize.” Izuku bites at his lip, the sharp edge of his razor teeth barely brushing the skin there before he stops, realizing that  _ oh, I’m still armed _ . He quickly shuts his mouth, hoping that none of the villains have the sense to disarm him. After all, his remaining knife is hidden in his left arm guard, and his mouth piece is so innocuous that he forgets it’s there most of the time. 

“Shut that fuck up,” Kacchan growls. “Deku’s not a piece of meat. Let us go,” he says, his palms sparking with explosions, and the masked man sighs, reaching out a hand that Kacchan tries to bat away. When they make contact, Kacchan disappears in a swirl of blue light, a small blue marble in his place that the villain snatches out of the air with one hand. 

“In all fairness,” the masked man says, gesturing with his hand, the marble held between two fingers, “both of our organizations failed to obtain the other target. We also don’t know the relative usefulness of this boy at this point. It would be unwise to assume he has no value.”

“Exactly, Mr. Compress,” Kurogiri says. “And we sustained far greater casualties in this operation. If you have no pre-existing plans for Midoriya, we should be the ones to take him. After all, he  _ was _ on our kill list.” Kurogiri’s head turns, like he’s looking at Shigaraki, who’s just standing there and scratching furiously at his neck. 

Leadfoot sighs. “It’s your fault you lost so many,” she says, shrugging. “If you’d selected your team more carefully, you wouldn’t have had that problem. As it is, anybody who actually stayed with their partner like they were meant to was fine.” She folds his arms over her chest, over the injury on the front of her body. “We’re taking Midoriya, and that’s final. If you want to negotiate further, you’re welcome to talk to the diplomatic team at our next meeting.”

“We could just take him,” Shigaraki rasps, scratching at his neck. “You’re outnumbered, and Dollface isn’t in any shape to fight.” 

The girl leaning on Compress snorts. “Wanna bet, crusty?” she snarls, and Manami starts cackling where she’s holding onto Toga. 

“Aw, that’s cute,” she says, pulling Toga in and hugging her from behind. “But they brought me for a reason, y’know? I wonder how good you are at fighting with your emotions amplified.” She squeezes Toga, who giggles, a smile wide on her face. “I know Toga here can handle it, but I doubt you’ve got it in you!”

“Enough,” Leadfoot says, raising a hand to massage the side of her head. “You don’t even have the infrastructure to house a second captive, Shigaraki.” She sighs. “We’re taking Midoriya. Feel free to contact our boss about further negotiations.” She raises a hand and slips a ring off of her middle finger.

“Wait, you’re not going to kill him right here, are you?” Dabi asks, arching an eyebrow. Leadfoot sighs again.

“No, I’m going to knock him out. He’s still armed, you know that, right?” She raises her hand, palm out, and the ring floats above it, tinted with violet light.

“He is? No he isn’t!” the Deadpool-looking guy says, and Izuku blinks, swallowing nervously. Leadfoot turns to him. 

“This will hurt less if you hold still,” she informs him, and Izuku only has time to blink before the ring is shooting forward at him. There’s a bloom of bright pain in his temple, then nothing but black. 

\--

When Izuku wakes up, it’s to a dull ache in the side of his head and a chill on his skin. He cracks open his eyes, blinking away sleep and pulling himself into a sitting position. 

He’s in a relatively bare room, with stone walls painted over a off-white color and an aged linoleum floor. He’s in different clothes--a loose white sweatshirt that’s about three sizes too big for him and a pair of black sweats that are about the same. He reaches up a hand, feeling that the dried blood has at least mostly been cleaned from his skin. His arm guards are missing, and with them his knives. He runs his tongue over his teeth and feels his stomach sink when he realizes that his mouthpiece is gone, too. 

Izuku pulls himself to his feet and glances around. There’s only one door, a painted metal thing with no window and a simple silver knob. Izuku walks over and tries it, but it's locked, of course. Izuku turns and walks to the other side of the room, but as soon as he’s turned, he hears the lock on the door click, and he whips around just to see the door crack open.

“Midoriya,” a man’s voice says, and a tall, lithe man in his early twenties walks into the room, his eyes closed. His hair is a shock of bright red next to his pale skin, and Izuku stares at him as he steps in, wearing a pair of black dress pants and a blood red button down that matches his hair. His tie is black, but it’s loose, like he’s tugged it away from his neck a few times already. There’s a scar over his right eye, a mismash of deep gouges that sink into the skin, centered over his eye itself, like someone had slashed at it, over and over. He moves confidently, like he’s used to having his eyes shut, and Izuku wonders, briefly, if that’s his quirk.

“Who are you?” Izuku asks, stepping forward. He’s grateful to not be in restraints, but as the man tugs the door shut behind him and it closes with a soft click, he wonders why he isn’t. 

The man opens his right eye, and Izuku can see that the organ is damaged beyond the point of sight. It’s not round, not really, a milky white and brownish-grey lump in his torn-up eye socket. It moves, though, like it’s trying to focus on him. 

“Lord Fury is my title,” he says, reaching a hand into his pocket and pulling out a box of cigarettes. “But my name is Kazuo Furuya.” He pulls a cigarette out and slides it between his lips, dipping his hand back into his pocket to pull out a lighter. His broken eye seems to watch Izuku as he lights it, the flame glowing a cherry red in the relatively dim light of the room. 

“So you’re the boss of this whole operation,” Izuku says, and he’s surprised when Fury chokes for a second, then tips his head back, laughing.

“Me?” He mimes wiping a tear away from his damaged eye. “Oh gods, no. I don’t know where you got that idea from.” He turns his face toward Izuku again. “I’m going to have a lot of fun with you, you know. It’s been a while since I got ahold of a new toy.”

Izuku opens his mouth to reply, but he stops when Fury cracks open his other eye, revealing a sliver of bright gold, then his entire eye. Izuku sees a strange pattern on his iris, like a sunburst, before he starts to feel it.

It starts in the bones of his face, a thin pressure that builds around his eyes like a sinus headache. The pain grows, a pressing, crushing sensation that spreads like a heavy liquid along his jaw, tracing down the muscles in his neck, and Izuku realizes, with horror, that he can’t look away. His pulse thrums a beat of pain in his temples as the pain suddenly sets into every bone in Izuku’s body, and he feels like he’s just touched a live wire, like he’s been dipped in molten magma. It’s worse than burning alive, worse than bleeding out. It’s worse than everything that’s killed him combined, and he feels himself drop to his knees, his vision turning that same gold color as Furuya’s eye. 

He doesn’t know what happens, but when the pain leaves, it feels like it’s been a hundred years, and he’s on the floor. There’s something wet under his head, and he’s on his side, his hands in front of him. He can register that they’re shaking, that he can see them, but he can’t figure out if his eyes are even open for a second. The relief that he feels, now that the pain is fast fading, draining out through his bones, is almost as intense as the pain itself. Izuku feels himself gag, his head knocking against the concrete floor as he dry heaves, and he realizes he’s lying in a puddle of his own sick. He tries to move, tries to sit up, but all he can do is jerk his head, his skull knocking painfully on the linoleum. It hurts more than it should, and he realizes that all of his nerves feel like they’re burning, prickling with phantoms of the pain from before.

He hears somebody make a shushing sound, soft and low, and he realizes he’s been whimpering through gritted teeth, and he forces himself to stop. It makes a pain he hadn’t even noticed in his temples lessen, ever so slightly. A pair of soft, gentle hands, picks up his head and tugs it up, out of the pool of sticky, acrid vomit. A warm, wet rag wipes at his cheek and mouth, and he feels his eyes slide shut against his will as his head is set down on something soft that holds his head and neck off of the hard floor. The wet rag wipes over his forehead, over his neck, and Izuku whines, the sensation both painful and soothing.

“Shh,” the voice says, and Izuku knows he knows that voice but can’t place it. “You’ll be okay. The worst is over, now.” A hand, gentle and cool, brushes his hair away from his forehead, and he sighs, swallowing the awful taste in his mouth and trying to get some saliva into his mouth so he can  _ talk _ .

“I wasn’t done with him,” Fury’s voice, petulant and irate fills the room, and Izuku flinches, the sensation burning at his raw nerves. A muffled noise escapes him, something between a squeak and a scream, and whoever is crouched beside him sets a cool hand on his cheek. 

“24 hours,” she says, voice firm. “He’ll break if you do it any sooner.”

“That’s kind of the  _ point _ ,” Fury hisses, too loud for Izuku’s sensitive ears. 

“Do you want him obedient, or brain dead?” The hand carefully tucks a lock of his hair behind his ear, and Izuku tries to focus on the sensation rather than the pain that still fills him. 

“We’re going to kill him anyway. 18 hours,” Furuya says.

“24,” the woman interjects, voice hard. “Do you think I don’t know how your quirk works? Give him 24 hours, and you can have me, too.”

Izuku hears a chuckle, low and dark. “You for real? Okay, then. 24 hours.”

“It’s a deal,” the woman whispers, and Izuku hears a thump that must be the door shutting. He tries to open his eyes, but his eyelids feel heavy, sticky. He can feel something akin to unconsciousness threatening to overtake him, but he forces himself to stay awake, if only because he’s afraid of what would happen to him if he slept

“‘M tired,” he says, his throat raw and painful. He coughs, once, and the hand on his face moves to rub circles into his back, between his shoulder blades.

“I know,” she whispers. “I’ve got to get you out of here.” Izuku grimaces, opens his eyes to look up at her, but her face is blurry and his eyes won’t focus. He can tell she’s pale, with dark hair that’s pulled back, but that’s all he can see.

“Kill me,” he says, voice thick and slurred. The woman sighs, soft and exhausted.

“I know,” she says. “I’m not going to let them, though.” She sighs again, and something about it is familiar. “You’re quirkless, so our boss has no use for you.”

Izuku blinks, trying to focus on her face. “Quirkless,” he repeats, dazedly. He can feel his brain trying to slip away into sleep, but he refuses to let it. 

“You need to rest,” she says, soft and gentle. Her hand is warm on his back. “I can bring you some food and water in a little bit, but if you don’t sleep, you won’t recover.” 

“Who’re you?” Izuku slurs, squinting. Her hand pauses on his back, still for a moment.

“You still can’t see, can you,” she says, but it isn’t a question. “I’ll tell you later, okay? Just sleep, please, Midoriya.” Her hand moves, smoothing over his forehead, gently sliding his eyes closed, and Izuku can’t resist, can’t open his eyes again once they’re shut. He starts to drift into nothingness, and even as he tries to keep himself awake, even as he tries to move, he can’t. Izuku slips into heavy darkness once again.

\--

Izuku slowly rises from a heavy sleep, shifting in place before blinking his eyes open. It’s dark in the room, nearly black, and his arms and legs feel half numb, half sore. He manages to sit up, though, and as his eyes focus, he realizes that he’s been moved onto a futon, a pillow where his head had been lying. At the corner of the room, by the door, there’s a bottle of water and what looks like a protein bar. Izuku blinks, glancing around to confirm that he’s alone, then crawls over to the door. His limbs shake, like they’re made of jelly, and he doesn’t trust himself to stand, but he makes it to the water and the protein bar. They’re both unopened, and when Izuku twists the cap of the water bottle it clicks, so he thinks they’re probably safe. 

Izuku lifts the water to his lips, and the cooling sensation as the liquid slips down his throat eliminates a burning pain in his chest that he’d barely noticed. Suddenly, he’s chugging the water, so thirsty he thinks he might cry, and too soon, he’s out of water again. Izuku swallows, relishing in the way his throat doesn’t feel quite as scratchy any more, and he grabs the protein bar, tearing the wrapper open. It’s something chocolate flavored, but he can’t really taste much other than the flavor of artificial sweeteners and whey protein, milky and strange, and he eats it in a few ravenous bites anyway. When he finishes, he sets the wrapper on the ground, next to the empty bottle of water, and he just leans back, his eyes sliding shut as he takes stock of how he feels.

Izuku’s head aches, pounds along the temples and his jaw. The pain continues in the bones of his arms and his chest, but it isn’t as bad in his legs. He feels weak all over, like he’d worked out too hard the day before, but when he presses his hands over his body, the only wounds he can identify are a bruise on one temple and some tender spots from where he’d hit the hard floor from falling earlier. All things considered, he’s relatively uninjured. Izuku thinks the heavy fuzz that presses in on his thoughts after just a few moments of being awake, the pain in his head and the weakness in his bones must be the product of Fury’s quirk, then. The thought doesn’t reassure him.

_ What do I know? _ He asks himself as he crawls back to the futon, slipping under the blanket and lying down on his less-bruised side. He knows that he’s with the Gekkeiju, at some sort of base. He knows that Fury  _ isn’t _ their boss, and that whoever’d helped him--Leadfoot, he realizes, that was  _ Leadfoot _ \-- after Fury had used his quirk on him said their real boss doesn’t have any use for a quirkless person. He knows that they plan to kill him, but also that they wanted him obedient. He knows that Kacchan isn’t here, with him. He  _ thinks _ Kacchan is with the League, still, and he’s not sure if that’s better or worse.

Izuku is suddenly struck by the fact that for all he knows about the Gekkeiju, he knows nearly nothing. He doesn't know their boss, what they do, what their goals are. He doesn’t even know where the members he  _ has _ met fit into the organization. 

Something else occurs to him. Leadfoot hadn’t been wearing her mask, when she’d helped him after Fury had hurt him. Izuku frowns, curling deeper in his blanket. She’d seemed to know exactly what to do, had said she knew how Fury’s quirk worked--things like that. Something prickles at the edge of Izuku’s mind, but he can’t quite pull it together. Something else sticks out to him, though--Fury’s name. Kazuo Furuya. He’s heard a “Kazuo” mentioned before somewhere, but  _ where _ ?

Izuku’s thoughts are interrupted by a soft knock at the door, and he jerks upright, sitting on top of the futon as the door opens, letting soft light into the room. He hears a click, and the lights come on, dim and yellow but there. Izuku blinks as Leadfoot steps into the room, with her mask on but not her ears. She’s dressed in clothes he hasn’t seen her in, before--a long sleeved black dress that comes down to her knees. It looks soft, like it’s pajamas, and she’s wearing blue high top sneakers with it. Her knees are bruised black and blue, and where her rings usually are on her hands, Izuku can see bruises along the bones of her hands, blue and violet and red. Izuku blinks as she steps into the room, shutting the door behind her.

“I saw you were awake,” she says, gesturing a hand at a corner of the room. Izuku looks up at it and sees a small, shiny black lens--a camera--in the top corner and he swallows, cursing himself for not noticing it in the first place. Leadfoot walks into the room, getting closer to him, and Izuku reflexively leans back, scooting away from her. She freezes, then sighs. Izuku realizes her hair is in low pigtails, not a ponytail, and the tiny difference makes him freeze.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’d really hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but...” She sighs, her shoulders dropping. “I don’t have any choice.” Her voice is low, defeated, and Izuku feels a bubble of irritation rise in his chest.

“W-What do you mean you don’t have any choice?” he asks, voice rising in the quiet room. “ _ I’m _ the one you kidnapped,” he snaps, and Leadfoot shakes her head.

“I know,” she says, then reaches a hand to her face, her palm and fingers spreading over the face of her mask. “This is the second time, though, that I’ve failed someone from my other life.” The edges of the mask glow a faint violet that travels slowly toward the center of the mask, and Leadfoot is pulling it off of her face before Izuku can even think about what that  _ means _ . He hears himself gasp, softly, as Leadfoot looks up at him with liquid-dark eyes, yellow and green bruises across her nose and under her eyes. Her nose is taped down, like it’s healing from being broken, and Izuku swallows as she drops her hand, still clutching the mask.

“Miura,” he breathes, and she nods. “Y-You... you knew, then,” he says, and she nods again, her gaze trained on the floor.

“That you were Ace?” she asks, softly. “I’ve known since that day with Clean. I just...” she lifts her head, meets his eyes. “I have to get you out of here,” she says, an echo of her words from earlier, when Izuku was weak on the floor, burning with pain. 

“What?” Izuku asks, blinking. Miura sighs, taking a few steps and kneeling on the ground next to the futon, her bruised knees resting on the linoleum. She sets the mask down, and it makes a dull clink. Up close, Izuku can see that both it and her are covered in tiny, almost invisible marks. Scars. She meets his eyes. 

“I’m going to get you out of here,” she says, serious. “Even if it kills me.” Izuku blinks, swallowing, because he knows that feeling but he doesn’t understand it, not in this situation, not from this person.

“Why?” he asks, and Miura blinks at him. “Why me? You barely know me.” 

“I know that you’re hurting,” Miura says, folding her hands in her lap and staring down at them. “And I know that--that I’ve been the cause of some of that hurt. Someone I met, someone I know, they’ve been helping me. For no reason. Even at a detriment to themself.” Miura sighs, the same soft noise Izuku has heard from Leadfoot so many times. “I don’t want that to go to waste. I can’t help them, not--not like I can help you. I wasn’t careful enough,” she says, and Izuku can hear her voice cracking, breaking.

“Okay,” Izuku says, shaking his head because this is too much. He’s still reeling from the fact that Miura is Leadfoot, from the fact that he’s at the Gekkeiju base and they’re going to kill him, from the fact that he doesn’t know  _ anything _ . His head still aches, burns in a way that he’s never felt before. It’s sharper than when he overuses his quirk, more hot and bright. Izuku swallows.

“Kill me,” he says, looking up at Miura. Her eyes widen, her lips parting ever so slightly, and he says it again. “Kill me, please.”

Miura shakes her head. “No, I--” Izuku cuts her off.

“I know you would have, if you’d caught me as Ace again,” he says, and he sees confusion flit across her features. “And I need you to kill me, now. I’m asking you to.” 

Miura shakes her head. “No,” she says, firmer this time. “Even if I thought that was any solution at all, I’m not allowed,” she says. “I’m willing to risk my own safety to save you, but not to kill you.” She meets his eyes, a frown on her face. “If you want my help, we’re doing this on my terms.” 

Izuku bites at his lower lip. “Fine,” he says. “What’s your plan?” 

Miura smiles. “I’m pretty high up in the organization,” she says, “so as long as my two equals and my boss don’t catch us, I can just walk you right out.” Izuku tips his head to the side.

“Who are your equals?” he asks, and Miura blinks at him.

“Kazuo and Manami,” she answers. “Sorry--Kazuo, that’s Fury.” She sighs, tracing a finger along the bone of her wrist. “We’re all pretty close. It’ll hurt them, what I’m doing.” Izuku watches her face, the way it’s covered in bruises. He thinks about the way she’s always had bruises, even at the hardware store. He wonders if they’ve hurt her before, too.

“When are we going?” Izuku asks, squeezing his hands into fists and then relaxing them, just to test his strength. He still feels weak, wobbly. “Actually, how long was I resting?”

Miura grimaces. “A while. Twenty hours, give or take,” she says, and Izuku’s eyes widen. 

“T-Twenty,” he says, his voice shaking. Miura nods.

“Kazuo’s quirk usually puts people out for longer, if they’re not used to it,” she says, her lips thinning into a grimace. “You must have an insane pain tolerance to be up and moving this soon.” Izuku snorts at that, and Miura raises an eyebrow. 

“It’s nothing,” Izuku says, a bitter laugh in his voice. “I don’t know if I can walk,” he says, glancing down at his legs. Miura nods.

“I didn’t expect you to be able to,” she says, getting to her feet. “Your nerves won’t be back to normal for a while.” She holds out a hand to him, and Izuku finds himself staring at the familiar shape of it for a moment too long before he reaches out and takes hold of it, letting Miura tug him up and to his feet. When he sways, his legs wobbling, she steadies him with hands on his shoulders.

“What is his quirk, anyway?” Izuku wonders as Miura steadies him. She frowns, her brows furrowing.

“I don’t know if I should say,” she murmurs. “I think it’ll be easiest to carry you on my back,” she says. “Do you think you can get on yourself?” Izuku thinks on it, then nods. Miura turns, crouching down slightly, and Izuku climbs onto her back. He’s struck by the fact that while she’s taller than him and clearly stronger, she’s also definitely not too much older than him. She lifts him easily, though, carrying him piggyback style.

“His quirk,” she says, voice hesitant. “It does a couple of things, but he can manipulate nerves. He calls it ‘Heaven and Hell’, and what you felt, that was the hell.” Izuku nods into her shoulder.

“It sure felt like it,” he says, and Miura chuckles softly under her breath.

“Yeah,” she replies. “It really does.” She pauses for a moment, breathes. “Are you ready?” Her hands squeeze gently where they’re holding his legs up, keeping him from slipping off of her back. 

“I’m ready,” Izuku replies, and Miura starts walking. Izuku realizes the moment they start moving that this won’t be comfortable--every tiny movement sending lightning-shocks of pain through his nerves, like fire climbing his bones--but if he’s anything, he’s used to pain. Izuku just grits his teeth and breathes through it, breathes through Miura opening the door and carrying him out into the hallway.

The hall looks much the same as the room he’d just left, long and poorly lit and made up of plain, cream walls and old, chipping linoleum. Miura carries him to the left of the door they’d come from, turning after just ten feet into a corridor that houses two elevators with shiny stainless steel doors. Their reflections are distorted just blobs of color, black and white and dark green, from Izuku’s hair. Miura leans forward, pressing the button to call the elevator with her elbow, and it beeps softly, the button lighting up orange from behind. Izuku counts his breaths as they wait, trying to keep himself fully focused and present.  _ I can’t miss any details. I don’t know if I’ll have to do this again _ .

The elevator is nicer than the hallway and the room, with polished stone tile on the floor and walls painted a deep blue. The button panel indicates that they’re on “B2,” which is the lowest floor. There seems to only be two basement levels and a first floor, and Miura presses the button for the first floor. Izuku feels the upward lurch of the elevator. 

“This one will only take you to the first floor,” Miura says, quietly, “but there are seven stories, plus the two basement levels.” She pauses. “In case you’re ever here again.” Izuku nods.

“In case they capture me again,” he says, and he sees her nod as the elevator doors slide open. She steps out onto the first floor, and Izuku is struck by how  _ normal _ it looks. The floor is polished marble tiles, white streaked with gold and grey, and the walls are painted a cool grey. The ceiling is high and airy, with lighting that hangs from above. The elevators open into what looks like a lobby, with a large reception desk made of that same white marble with a bored-looking young woman sitting in the reception desk, wearing a black suit over a white button-down and a blue tie. Her long black hair is half-up, half-down, and she wears a name tag that reads  _ Yamamoto _ in neat kanji. She’s typing at a computer, and barely glances up at the two of them as they walk in. 

“Yamamoto,” Miura greets, and Yamamoto nods back at her. 

“Miura-sama,” she replies, but doesn’t look away from the computer, doesn’t make eye contact. “Should I send a message for you?” 

“No,” Miura replies, her voice calm and clear. Yamamoto nods. Izuku hears some rustling, and he looks to see another part of the building, an area carpeted with thick blue shag. There’s a set of white couches and arm chairs, surrounding a large, flat screen television, and the walls of the area are tinted windows that show the city outside. Izuku watches, dread pooling in his stomach, and Manami pokes her head up from one of the couches, her red hair loose around her shoulders.

Izuku can see the television behind her playing the news, and he recognizes Aizawa’s face, although he’s wearing a suit and his hair is half up. He’s speaking to the camera, but the sound is off, and Izuku is too far away to read the closed captions. The headline says something about the summer training camp, about two students being missing.

“Sumimi?” Manami asks, tipping her head to the side slightly. Her eyes are normal, her pupils round, and she’s wearing a baggy sweatshirt identical to the one Izuku’s in--loose and white. 

“Manami,” Miura says, startled. Manami’s eyes narrow, and she stands up, walking around the couch and towards them. She’s wearing athletic shorts, which show the fact that her thighs are completely  _ covered _ in self harm wounds, in various stages of healing. Some are even still bleeding. Izuku finds himself staring at them. 

“Where are you going with Midoriya?” Manami asks, frowning, almost a pout. Her hair is long when it’s down, almost to the small of her back, and it swishes as she moves toward them. 

Miura takes a deep breath. “Manami. Turn around and let us go,” she says, and Manami blinks, tipping her head to the side.

“Oh, you’re rescuing him,” she says, matter of fact. “Well, that’s not allowed, silly.” She huffs out a breath of air, puffs out her cheeks. “I’m gonna kill him now, ‘kay?” 

“Manami, don’t,” Miura says, takes a step back. Manami smiles, then reaches up to touch her own cheek. Izuku watches her edges blur in multicolor, watches her pupils turn to hearts. Manami giggles.

“Sorry!” she chirps, but she doesn’t sound sorry at all. “Do you have a preference for how I do it, Midoriya? I don’t have any weapons, but I could strangle you, or crush your head in, probably.”

Izuku sighs. “Whatever’s quickest, please,” he says, and Miura stiffens underneath him. “I don’t care if it hurts. Just get it over with.” Manami blinks, then nods.

“Okay!” she sings, then hops forward and reaches out, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. Her strength is unnatural as she rips him from Miura’s back, even as Miura tries to hold onto him. Izuku feels Manami’s other hand bury in his hair, not touching his skin, and then his head is being slammed down into the tile, harsh and hard. The impact sends stars through his vision, fills the bones of his skull with fresh pain. His head is lifted up again, and when he’s slammed into the cracked tile the second time, he doesn’t feel anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: vomiting, torture, implied abuse
> 
> discord: https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt
> 
> I HOPE YALL LIKE IT and im so ososos os so blown away by the INSANE amount of support on the last two chapters!!! i've read every comment at least twice and i was smiling like an idiot the whole time!!! im so excited for the next few chapters as well. we're so close to the end of the first part of the fic :D


	43. captivity, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku saw some villains fighting over him, woke up in the basement of the gekkeiju base, got tortured some, and died when miura tried to save him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GAMERS we don't have safe water where i am rn so school got cancelled and i wrote this instead of doing literally any schoolwork and then??? idek what i did with the rest of the day bc normally i can get way more done lol.

Izuku cracks one eye open, and he knows immediately where he is--when he is. He sits up from the linoleum floor, blinks in the dim light, and looks around the room. The walls are that same cream color, and now that he knows what to look for, Izuku can see the camera in the corner of the floor.

But most strikingly, he isn’t in  _ pain _ . He hurts from getting knocked out, from lying on the hard floor, but it’s nothing. Izuku feels like he can breathe, like he can  _ think _ , and it’s such a drastic change from before that he’s not sure how exactly he was moving at  _ all _ . Izuku stands up, and when he hears the doorknob click this time, he turns to face the back wall of the door before the door can open. 

“Midoriya,” Fury says, just like last time, and Izuku takes a deep breath.

“Furuya,” he says. “Kazuo Furuya.” He hears the door click shut somewhere behind him, and when a hand comes to rest on his shoulder, he doesn’t let himself flinch. He hears Fury hum, low under his breath.

“Did my sister leak my name?” he asks, sounding curious, innocent. “I’m surprised. Maybe you’ll be a little more fun than I thought.” He chuckles, lightly, starting to walk around to where Izuku’s facing the back wall. Izuku slides his eyes shut.

“Who’s your sister?” Izuku asks, listening to the sound of Fury’s shoes clicking on the floor as his hand slides off of Izuku’s shoulder. “I think I’ve met her.”

“Don’t you know it’s impolite to not look at someone when they’re talking to you?” Fury asks, tsking. “Open your eyes, Midoriya. I’d like to see what color they are.” He keeps his tone light, but Izuku can hear the irritation there. 

“I-I’d rather not,” Izuku says, biting at his lower lip. Fury sighs. 

“It’ll be easier if you do, really,” he says, and then Izuku’s breath is getting knocked out of him by a fist to his gut, sending him stumbling back a few steps. Izuku gets into a fighting stance, but he quickly realizes just how much he relies onsight to fight when he hears a whoosh of something moving through the air but doesn’t know where to block. The kick connects with his side, and Izuku stumbles to the floor, barely catching himself on the palms of his hands. Izuku braces himself for another hit, his mind calling up old images of being on his hands and knees on the sidewalk beside Aldera Middle School, but the next hit doesn’t come. He hears rustling, movement, and then there’s a hand on his chin, lifting his head up. Izuku tries to yank his head away, but Fury’s grip is strong, almost bruising.

“Who told you?” Fury asks, his fingernails digging into the flesh of Izuku’s jaw. Izuku thinks he can feel rings, too, but he doesn’t dare open his eyes to check. 

“N-Nobody,” Izuku grits out. Fury hisses, and Izuku feels his other hand on Izuku’s face, around his eye. Izuku struggles back, trying to tug himself away, but that hand moves to his hari and jerks him closer, only for the hand on his jaw to drop to his throat, wrapping around his neck and choking him. Izuku tries to breathe, but he just makes a little wheezing sound, and he presses his eyes shut as tight as he can. He feels the hand in his hair let go, and he shakes his head  _ no _ as hard as he can, but Fury grabs at his right eye, peeling the eye open with two fingers. As hard as Izuku tries to hold it shut, to move away, he  _ can’t _ , and his eye opens to the blurry view of a golden eye with a sunburst of lines leading away from the pupil.

Izuku’s world is pain, once again. He burns in the bones of his skull, in his ribcage and his chest, the places where the nerves run from his elbows along the underside of his arms, in the tips of his fingers. This time, Izuku doesn’t fade to nothing as quickly, doesn’t lose awareness, and it’s worse for it. Izuku feels the pain build, crest until he feels like he can’t possibly be alive after this. He can’t move, can’t look away, but then Fury blinks and it starts to fade. Fury steps back, dropping Izuku to the ground, and the impact of his body dropping even that short distance is too much. Izuku gasps for breath, blinking and writhing against the floor. His body feels like it’s alight, like every inch of his skin and every muscle, every bone is fire and heat. Izuku feels bile rise in his throat, but he swallows it down. He tries to stop twitching, to stop moving against the floor, but he can’t order his body to stop shaking.

Izuku remembers what Miura had done for him, last time, and he forces himself to stop clenching his jaw, to stop whimpering under his breath. It’s hard, like his body doesn't want to listen, but it brings some relief, even small, to the pain that throbs in his head. He thinks he hears footsteps moving around him, but he still flinches in shock when a pair of cool, gentle hands come to rest on his head, lifting it off of the hard floor and setting it back down on something soft.

“Shh,” Miura’s voice says, soft and gentle, and Izuku feels the warm, wet rag wipe the sweat from his face, and he relaxes into it. He feels some of the pain lessen, ever so slightly, and he realizes that it’s not as bad as last time. He forces himself to breathe in and out, slow, forces himself to stop shaking, stop twitching, and the pain starts to ebb to a manageable level, one where he can think.

“He knew about my quirk,” Fury says, voice low and serious from somewhere above Izuku. “How did he know about my fucking quirk?” 

“I don’t know, Kaz,” Miura says, sighing. “When you walk into a room with your eyes shut, it’s not so hard to figure it out.” Fury hisses, angry.

“He turned around before I walked in, smart ass,” he snaps. “You’ve met this kid before, haven’t you? How else would he know my name and quirk?”

Miura sighs, again. “Manami is far more likely to leak that info, you know that,” she says. “I haven’t told him anything. Manami’s the one who’s fought him in Hosu.” 

“But you  _ have _ met him before, haven’t you, Sumire?” Fury growls, low and animalistic under his breath. “Fuck! I hate it when you two do this shit without consulting with me. You’ve fucked it all up, now look at him!”

Miura sighs, brushing Izuku’s hair away from his face. “I don’t think him knowing has anything to do with his pain tolerance, Kazuo. Even if this is an unusual response.” Izuku cracks an eye open, but his view of the world is blurry, like there’s a film over things. 

“It’s like he’s gone through it before,” Fury says, and Izuku can see him leaning over where Izuku is on the ground. Izuku sees a flash of gold, and he snaps his eyes shut. Fury chuckles.

“It is,” Miura agrees, something Izuku can’t place in her voice. “He reminds me of Mouse.”

Fury snorts. “Funny you should mention that. I’m going to have her talk to him, when he’s in a state to talk. Then I’ll have another go at him.” Izuku hears a sharp intake of breath from Miura. 

“You can’t,” she says. “Give him 24 hours.” Izuku hears Fury snort.

“If he survives that long, I’ll give him 18. You know as well as I do that he’s going to be dead at the end of this, anyway. May as well have my fun while I can,” he says, laughter in his voice. 

Miura sighs. “If you wait the full 24, you can have me, too,” she says, defeat in her voice. The words have more meaning to them, now that Izuku knows what he does, now that he’s coherent enough to process them. He feels a shiver run down his spine at the thought of Miura subjecting herself to Fury’s quirk  _ willingly _ . 

“Seriously?” Fury asks, sounding surprised. “You’ve got a deal, Sumire. I’ll send Mouse in in what, twelve hours?” 

Miura sighs. “That should be okay,” she says, softly. Izuku hears footsteps, hears a door open and shut and then he hears Miura speak again. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, a cool hand brushing the bruised skin on his throat. “I should never have let it get to this point.”

“‘S okay,” Izuku mumbles, blinking his eyes. He can focus more than last time, although not by much. “Who’s Mouse?” he asks, and Miura sighs.

“She’s Kazuo’s current project,” she says, and Izuku  _ really _ doesn’t like the sound of that. “Don’t lie to her, when she comes.” Miura smoothes a hand over his face. “You need to rest, now.”

“Mhmm,” Izuku hums. “Miura?” he asks, and he feels her stiffen beside him. “Not your fault,” he says.

“Thank you,” Miura murmurs. “But it is.” Izuku blinks, sleepily, but he can’t force himself to stay awake any longer. He drifts away into darkness.

\--

Izuku wakes up to a dark room. He’s in that same futon, but the ache in his head isn’t quite so pressing, quite so distracting. When he blinks his eyes open, sitting up, there’s the exact same water bottle and protein bar by the doorway. If Izuku wasn’t more than used to resetting by this point, he’d have deja vu. 

This time, Izuku pulls himself to his feet, moving slowly and carefully. It’s difficult, and his legs are like jelly, but he can do it, can balance enough to hobble over to the doorway on his own two feet. The water helps, sliding down his throat and cooling some of the aching in his gut. Izuku drinks half of the bottle, then carries it and the protein bar over to his futon, sitting down on top of it and tearing open the wrapper to the protein bar. It’s strange, eating it again when he’d eaten it not long ago, but he eats it in a few quick bites, anyway. He drinks the rest of the water afterward, swishing the last mouthful around to get the last traces of the artificial taste out of his mouth, and then he sets the bottle and wrapper down and takes a deep, slow breath. 

He can see a tiny red light in the camera in the corner of the room, so he knows that he’s being watched, but this time, Miura doesn’t come in to talk to him. Izuku isn’t sure how long he sits there, just waiting in the emptiness of the room, but it can’t be more than an hour or two. The door handle clicks quietly, and Izuku’s head shoots up to watch as the door opens, light spilling into the room, and a small figure is pushed inside. Izuku blinks, standing, and the door is shut. The lights flicker on after that, and Izuku finds himself staring at the person in front of him.

She’s... small. Izuku guesses that she can’t be much older than five or six, about three and a half feet tall, he’d guess. Her hair is short, brown, and curly, clipped messily so that it hangs uneven and choppy around her jaws and ears. Her skin is tanned and dirty, scuffed up in the corners, and she’s wearing a pair of cargo shorts that are far too big for her, cinched on with a length of rope. Her shirt, a white t-shirt that hangs off of her tiny form, does nothing to hide the marks on her arms, the repeating circular burns.  _ Cigarette butts _ , Izuku realizes.  _ They’re scars from cigarettes. _

“...Mouse?” Izuku asks, carefully. She’s standing just in front of the door, her fingers twisted in her shirt and her gaze trained on the ground. She’s shaking, ever so slightly, but when Izuku says that name, she glances up, bottom lip wobbling.

“Mouse,” she repeats, nodding jerkily. “You can’t lie to me.” She gestures at her chest with a tiny hand. “Not allowed. Bad.” 

Izuku blinks, then nods. “Okay,” he says, and Mouse breathes a little sigh of relief. She fumbles with the pocket of her shorts for a moment, producing a small piece of folded white paper. She unfolds it, carefully, and she holds it in front of her.

“I ask questions,” she says, glancing up from the paper at Izuku. “I ask questions from Mr. Kazuo.” She nods, then tips her head at Izuku, and he realizes that she’s waiting for a confirmation.

“That’s okay,” Izuku says, trying to keep his voice something soothing, even though the lights have brought back his headache. “You can ask me whatever you need to.” 

Mouse nods, seriously, then looks down at the paper. “What is your full name?” she asks, and Izuku is frankly surprised that she can read at all. 

“Izuku Midoriya,” he answers, and she must have some kind of quirk that tells her if he’s lying, because he watches tension bleed out of her shoulders. 

“How did you know Mr. Kazuo’s name?” she asks. She looks up at Izuku when she does, and he thinks he sees a hint of something red flashing in the irises of her eyes, but he thinks it could be a trick of the light.

“He told me,” Izuku says, which is true. Mouse nods, glancing down at the paper. Izuku wonders what the grime that covers her is--it’s dark grey and black, not brown like dirt would be. She’s coated in the stuff, on her clothing and her fingers, and it prickles something in the back of Izuku’s mind, but he can’t place it. She smells like cigarettes and woodsmoke. 

“How did you know Mr. Kazuo’s quirk?” she asks, and Izuku bites at his lower lip, because that’s complicated.

“I know it from multiple things,” he says, which is as true as it gets. “He used it on me,” he adds and Mouse’s eyes widen. 

“Mr. Kazuo’s quirk hurts bad,” she says, nodding quickly. “I hurt when he uses it.” Izuku swallows, something dark and painful rising at that.

“I’m sorry, Mouse,” he says, and he wishes he could do something,  _ anything _ , to help her. She turns her eyes back to the paper.

“What is your quirk?” she asks, glancing up at him. Izuku swallows. He doesn’t know what her quirk does, exactly, but he has to take a risk and hope that this works like it did with Tsukauchi.

“I’m quirkless,” he says, because he is a quirkless  _ person _ , and Mouse shakes her head. Izuku feels a pang of fear in his gut, but she opens her mouth and starts to speak.

“Next question is stupid,” she says. “Next question is stupid if you’re quirkless.” She clutches the little piece of paper. “Have you used your quirk while in this facility?” She says the word facility easily, like she’s said it a hundred times before, even though she seems to struggle to put basic sentences together, and Izuku hates the fact that he notices. Maybe it’s because of that, because of the way his heart is twisting in his chest at the sight of the burns, the  _ fresh _ burns on her forearms, that he answers automatically, without thinking.

“No,” he says, and he knows immediately that he’s messed up. Mouse’s gaze snaps up to him, and her previously dark eyes are glowing, flickering in red and yellow and orange like a candle flame.

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “You can’t lie to me. Mouse is not a good person to lie to,” she says, dropping the paper and scrambling over to him. Izuku blinks, confused, because she seems so panicked. He takes a breath in, and that’s when he realizes what’s wrong. It feels like he’s back in the woods, breathing in the smoky air, itching and stinging in his lungs, and Izuku coughs on reflex. A small puff of grey smoke comes from his mouth, quickly dissipating in the air, and Mouse shakes her head again, violently.

“No, no, no!” she whines, grabbing the front of his sweatshirt and twisting her little, ash covered hands in it.  _ Soot, _ Izuku realizes,  _ she’s covered in soot _ . He can feel it in his chest, now, a thick, burning heat that burns in his ribs and his sternum. The pain is almost a joke, compared to Fury’s quirk, but when Izuku breathes in, it’s like the air feeds hot coals in his lungs. Izuku coughs, sputters, and this time, he sees cherry-red embers float into the air, the same color as Mouse’s glowing eyes. Izuku tries to take in another breath, but there’s no relief, no oxygen that reaches his blood, not judging by the way his vision has started to blur. Izuku falls onto his side, coughing and spluttering into the cloth of the futon, black soot coating everything in front of him. His chest aches, burns with fire on the inside, and Izuku shuts his eyes and waits to die.

\--

Izuku blinks his eyes open once more in that same place, in the empty room with the cream walls and the dirty old linoleum. He stands quickly, relishing the fact that he’s not in pain, the fact that his lungs fill easily with air, the way that he can move, easily. He’s on his feet, turned to face the back of the room, when the doorknob clicks.

“Furuya,” he says, before Fury has a chance to greet him. He hears the door click shut.

“Oh?” Fury says, a hint of amusement in his voice. “It seems my reputation precedes me. I don’t believe we’ve met, Midoriya.” 

“Maybe not from your perspective,” Izuku says, shutting his eyes. “Say, you think I’m quirkless, don’t you?” 

“That’s what our intel says,” Fury replies, voice carefully schooled. “But I’m guessing that’s not the case.” Izuku hears the clicking of his shoes against the floor. “Is it?”

“No,” Izuku says, swallowing. “It isn’t. I know you’re planning to kill me, but I would advise against it.” He takes a deep breath. “Your quirk, Heaven and Hell. You can’t turn it off, can you?” 

Fury’s footsteps stop. “What?” he asks. “How do you...?” Fury sighs. “Who leaked it to you?” His voice is resigned, heavy with irritation. 

“You did, technically,” Izuku says. “If you don’t believe me, make Mouse question me instead. That’ll get you what you want, right?” He schools his features, forces himself to look unafraid. Determined. 

“You know about Mouse,” Fury says. “Hm. What is your supposed quirk?”

Izuku shrugs. “I’d prefer to tell your boss about that, to be honest,” he says. 

Fury hisses out a breath of air. “Fine,” he snaps. “But she’s busy, right now. You’ll speak with the brat first.” Izuku hears footsteps, hears the door open, and he opens his eyes. The cream colored wall is in front of him, and as he hears the door click shut, he turns, cautiously. He keeps his eyes down and half lidded, but even once he’s turned and slowly looked up, there’s nobody there. 

Izuku waits, pacing back and forth in that plain room, for what must be hours. After a few minutes pass, he starts to count, slow and even along with his breaths, but he soon loses track of even that. Instead, he thinks. 

Izuku knows, deep down, that this is bad. He thinks that some part of his brain is keeping him from processing it, from understanding what’s going on, but he knows he’s caught, and that resetting isn’t taking him back far enough to get out. He knows that he’s been tortured--that he’ll probably be tortured again. He knows that he’s not the only captive. Izuku can remember that the Gekkeiju have Avenging Angel, and he doubts there’s any way that Mouse is anything  _ but  _ a captive, not with those burns and the way she acted. 

Izuku doesn’t want to think about a lot of things, but Mouse... Izuku bites his lip as he paces in his little room, turning on his heels and lining his steps up, toe to heel. She’d been asking him questions from the piece of paper she’d given him, but Izuku can’t recall her asking any questions other than those, even when she’d clearly wanted some kind of a response from him.  _ A quirk that requires a direct question and response, then? _ He wonders. Izuku thinks, to the fact that he’d technically lied when he’d said he was quirkless, but it hadn’t triggered her quirk.  _ It could be like Tsukauchi’s quirk, where the fact that I’m technically quirkless, if only legally, is enough, but I wonder. Could it be because I didn’t answer her question? She asked what my quirk was, not if I was quirkless or not. _

Izuku takes a deep breath. He starts mapping in his mind, too. He’s on the second basement level, and the building has seven above ground floors. The elevators just down the hall only lead to the first floor, which is some sort of lobby. There’s windows, so nothing too private could take place there, but Manami still hadn’t hesitated to kill him. He wonders if the glass could be one way, if on the outside, it looks like mirrors. 

Izuku wonders about a lot of things. He wonders why he hasn’t seen Miura yet, this reset. He wonders when Mouse will come, what questions they’ll ask. He wonders how a little girl like her could end up in a place like this. He wonders why he hasn’t reached his limit yet. After all, he’s reset four times now, hasn’t he? Shouldn’t he have a headache? Izuku thinks that maybe, in comparison to the pain from Fury’s quirk, he just can’t feel the pain of his quirk any more. He hopes that’s not the case. He hopes, desperately, that his training is just paying off.

\--

It’s after hours of pacing, walking back and forth until his feet are sore, that the doorknob clicks. Izuku glances up to see Miura, wearing the same clothing from before, step inside. She’s wearing her mask, that simple piece of metal--of lead--that covers her face, hides her healing bruises. Izuku wonders, now, how he’d never recognized her before, even with it on. She still looks like herself, after all, even with her face hidden. 

“It’s time,” she says, voice even and low. She opens the door, holding it, and Izuku tips his head to the side.

“I’m going to her?” he asks, and Miura nods. 

“You are,” she confirms. “Come.” she turns, walking out of the room, and Izuku hurries to follow her. They turn the opposite direction from where Izuku knows the elevators are, walking down the hallway at an even pace. It’s so different from the last time Izuku had made it to this point, to when he’d been draped over Miura’s back, in agony.

“Miura,” he says, softly. Miura jerks to a stop in front of him, turning to look at him.

“You figured it out,” she says, sighing. “I should have expected that. You’re a smart kid.” Izuku watches her reach up, watches the mask color with soft violet light, before she pulls it from her face. She looks tired in a way she hadn’t last time, the bruises under her eyes seeming almost darker. 

“Thank you,” Izuku says, suddenly. “I know that, if things were different, you would...” he swallows as she turns away from him to look down the hall. “Thank you,” he repeats.

“You shouldn’t thank me for something I haven’t even done,” she says, starting to move forward again. Izuku follows her, walks just a few steps behind her until they’re at the end of the hall, at the very last door. There’s a child’s drawing hung on the outside of it, just beside the doorknob, and it shows five stick figures. One is tiny, with a swirl of brown for hair and red eyes, and Izuku thinks it must be Mouse. There are four adult figures, too--one with long black hair pulled back low, one with short red hair and sunglasses that cover his eyes, and one with long red hair in pigtails and cuts all over her thighs, and one with big black wings and brown ram’s horns that poke out from jaw length black hair. The figures are all holding hands, but only the one that Izuku thinks is supposed to be Manami is smiling, and the little Mouse, drawn in crayon, is crying scribbled-on turquoise tears. Izuku tears his eyes away from the drawing as Miura slides a key into the doorknob and unlocks it before twisting the knob and pushing the door open. 

“Mousey?” Miura calls, her voice gentle. “It’s Sumire.” She steps into the room, turning and nodding at Izuku, who follows her in. 

The room is the same cream color as the one Izuku’d been in, but it’s not empty. In one corner of the room is a twin sized mattress dressed in filthy white sheets, stained with black soot and grey ash. Mouse sits on the bed, a thick black blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and she stares up at them with wide eyes. There’s a desk, too, in another corner of the room, with a box of crayons and a stack of paper. Izuku can see a doorway that seems to lead to a bathroom, but the lights are out in it, and all he can make out is the edge of what he thinks is a toilet.  _ There must either not be a bath, or she doesn’t know how to bathe _ , he notes, judging by the streaks of soot covering her and tainting the room. It smells like a campfire. 

“Sumire,” Mouse says, pulling the blanket tight around her shoulders. “You brought him for questions.” It’s not phrased as a question, but Miura nods. 

“This is Midoriya.” She gestures to him. “Kazuo gave you your questions already, right?” Mouse nods, fumbling within the blanket and producing a folded piece of paper. “Good. I’ll be right outside, okay? Knock if you need help,” she says, a soft smile on her face. 

“‘Kay,” Mouse says, watching with her dark eyes as Miura turns, stepping back through the doorway. Miura glances at Izuku.

“A piece of advice. Don’t lie to her,” Miura says, her eyes shining with something that Izuku thinks might be worry. She steps out of the room, shutting the door behind her, and Izuku takes a deep breath. 

“Hi, Mouse,” he says, giving her a small smile. “I’m Izuku Midoriya, but you can call me whatever you’d like, okay?” He meets her gaze, and she nods, slowly.

“Mouse,” she says. “Call me Mouse. I call you Izuku.” She slides forward, creeping off of the bed, the blanket still around her shoulders. “If I call you Izuku,” she says, pauses. Izuku blinks.

“That’s okay!” he says, nodding to her. “You can call me Izuku.” Mouse shuffles forward, standing close to the center of the room. 

“I ask questions,” she says, holding the piece of paper up. “I ask questions, and you don’t lie. Please,” she adds, looking up at him. Izuku nods.

“I won’t lie to you. I’ll be okay,” he says, and she blinks, eyes huge. 

“Okay,” she says, nodding. She glances down at the paper. “What is your full name?”

“Izuku Midoriya,” Izuku replies, and Mouse nods, jerkily.

“How did you know Mr. Kazuo’s name?” she asks. She peeks up at Izuku, and sure enough, he can see the flash of red in her eyes. 

“I know because of my quirk,” Izuku says, which is true. Mouse nods, eyes huge. 

“How did you know Mr. Kazuo’s quirk?” she asks, and Izuku is glad that the questions are the same, at least for the most part. It makes it easy to answer.

“Because of my quirk,” he answers, again, and Mouse’s head bobs, up and down.

“What is your quirk?” she asks, eyes pinned on his. Izuku watches the swish of the red light.  _ Questions are definitely part of the activation. _

“My quirk doesn’t have an official name,” he says, which is absolutely true, if only because Izuku can’t pick a name for the real version of it. “It lets me see how things could happen, if I do certain things.” And really, it does. What’s the difference between seeing the future and going back in time, really? 

“Have you used your quirk while in this facility?” Mouse asks. She’s looking up at him with  _ awe _ , and it’s a foreign experience for Izuku. He’s never had a kid look at him like that.

“I have,” he says, and her eyes widen. 

“Were you sent by anyone to infiltrate this facility?” Mouse asks, stumbling over the word ‘infiltrate.’ Izuku blinks.

“No,” he says. “I was kidnapped. Do they really think I did that on purpose?” Mouse shrugs.

“I was brought here by Maiko-sama,” Mouse says. “Maiko-sama bought Mouse and gave me a home.” She pauses, her fingers squeezing and wrinkling the paper. “I did not come here on purpose. So I don’t think Izuku did, either,” she says, eyes huge. 

Izuku bites at his lower lip. “It’s not your fault you’re here, Mouse,” he says, gently, and he knows it’s the right thing to say when Mouse’s eyes widen even further and she takes a few tiny steps closer to him, her head tipped back to look up at him.

“I asked all the questions,” Mouse says, quiet. “Sumire will be back soon. Or they will send someone else.” She tips her head slightly to the side. “Mouse does not get to ask her own questions. Mouse is dangerous.”

“Can I... Can I touch you?” Izuku asks, hesitant. “I want to put a hand on your head.” Mouse blinks at him.

“Izuku doesn’t need to ask. Mr. Kazuo doesn’t ask,” she says, looking confused, and Izuku swallows.

“I want to ask,” Izuku says, softly. “I don’t want to do anything you’re not okay with.” Mouse’s mouth opens, just the tiniest bit, and she nods, her head bobbing jerkily. Izuku moves his hand carefully, slowly, so that Mouse can see every movement, and then he sets his hand on top of her head, in her tangled mess of dark curls. He gently rests his palm and fingers in her hair, and after a moment, Mouse leans into the touch, her eyes still glued to Izuku’s. Izuku thinks he gets, now, why Miura was willing to risk her own safety to help him, even though she didn’t know him, not really. Izuku can’t just look at Mouse and  _ not _ want to save this scared, scarred little girl.

Izuku hears the doorknob click, and he removes his hand from Mouse’s head, turning to face the door as it opens. Sure enough, it’s Miura, maskless and tired looking. She glances to Mouse. 

“All done?” she asks, voice quiet. Mouse nods, and Miura glances to Izuku. “Come on, then. The boss is busy right now, so it might be awhile before she can talk to you.” Izuku blinks, then nods. He glances back at Mouse as he follows Miura out of the room, watches as she stares back at him, her face wearing the same wide-eyed look as before. He wishes he could have helped her clean up, before he was asked to leave.

Miura walks him only a short distance down the hall, two rooms down from Mouse’s, before stopping in front of a door and unlocking the handle. Izuku blinks.

“It’s a different room,” he says, and Miura glances over to him, nodding. 

“It is,” she says, pushing the door open. “It’ll be a little more comfortable.” She gestures to the inside, which is dark, and Izuku hesitates before walking in. He steps inside, and the door is shut behind him, locking from the sound of it. Izuku bites at his lip, wishing he’d asked a few more questions before she’d left, but now, in the darkness, he’s lost his chance. He blinks as his eyes adjust to the dim light, and he realizes that there’s a light switch on the wall of this room, with two levers down in the down position. Izuku blinks, flipping them both on, and the lights in the room as well as in a small adjoining bathroom turn on.

Izuku glances around the room. It’s much the same in shape as Mouse’s, but in lieu of the mattress, there’s a futon in one corner of the room, and he doesn’t have a desk. There’s two bottles of water and what looks like two pouches of applesauce next to the futon, and as Izuku walks across the room, he can see a toilet and a sink in the tiny bathroom. The floor there is tiled white, but the tiles are cracked and stained, old looking like the linoleum. Izuku sighs in the emptiness of the room, walking over to the futon and sitting down.  _ I might as well get comfortable _ , he thinks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: child abuse, torture, vomiting
> 
> discord: https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt
> 
> i hope you all enjoyed!!! thank you for the amazing support <3
> 
> oh, and we have art !!! for this fic!! idk how to insert links tbh, but mrsketchy on our discord makes some hella cool stuff that you can see on his tumblr: https://mrsketchy.tumblr.com/


	44. captivity, part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku meets mouse, who is very sad and has a very scary quirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [actual real link to mrsketchy's art!](https://mrsketchy.tumblr.com/) this is just his tumblr in general, but it's where all his stuff is :3c
> 
> IM SO GLAD YALL LOVE MOUSE i would die for her <3 enjoy dis chapter

Izuku spends most of the time in the room alone and in relative silence. He can hear a steady drip coming from the sink, no matter how many times he walks over to it and tightens the knob toward the off position, but after a while, the noise is actually comforting. Izuku thinks that’s because he’s been in here for an awfully long time, not that he has any way of tracking things. 

He goes through the water and applesauce pretty quick, even though he’s trying to save it. His head doesn’t hurt, necessarily, but he can tell that he’s getting thirsty faster than normal and that he’s just the tiniest bit weaker, the tiniest bit quicker to fatigue. Izuku’s pretty sure that his quirk backlash is affecting him, after all, and strangely enough, it’s a comforting thought rather than a concerning one. After all this time, his quirk has been something he can rely on, more or less, and knowing that even if his limit has changed that the rules haven’t is soothing to him. 

Izuku rests, mostly. He paces a bit at first, but when it’s becoming clear that he’s not going anywhere anytime soon, when he’s drained the second bottle of water and he’s noticed a thin quiver in his fingers when he tries to hold them straight, he tucks himself into the futon and sleeps with his back pressed to the painted brick wall. It’s a fitful sleep, and Izuku knows he’s too on edge to really, truly rest, but it’s something. It’s nice to be able to turn his own lights on and off, and he keeps the bathroom light on just so that if someone walks in, he’d be able to identify them quickly. It casts the room in grey shadow, and something about that is so much nicer than the harsh cream walls, the once-white floor. Izuku sleeps off and on like that for a while, and when he wakes, he feels better physically.

It occurs to Izuku that Kacchan probably has it worse than him. Sure, he’s been tortured and killed, but Kacchan is the one with the League, the one with the villains that seem less organized and more unhinged. Kacchan doesn’t have the practice Izuku does, doesn’t have the pain tolerance and the ability to come back from death. Izuku has to stop himself from thinking about it, because when he imagines his childhood friend, tied up or half decayed or writhing in pain, a thick panic rises in his throat, choking him. Izuku can’t afford to break down, not here. 

Izuku thinks about Mouse instead, which is arguably worse, but it’s something he’s close enough to do something about. He thinks about the way she’d drawn some of the Gekkeiju members and herself, the way she’d been ‘bought’ by whoever Maiko is. Izuku’s heard of quirk trafficking, of course, but as a quirkless child, it had seemed so distant. So far apart from Izuku, who had bruises and burns because he  _ didn’t _ have a quirk. 

Izuku hates that he can see exactly what a villain group would want with Mouse. More than Tsukauchi, even, her quirk would give them a way to ensure honesty, a way to guarantee cooperation. Izuku wonders how many people they’ve made Mouse kill. He wonders how many people Mouse has watched die.

Izuku thinks that the isolation might be getting to him right around the point where he’s gotten too hungry to sleep any more. He sits on the futon, his hands fisted in the fabric, and he doesn’t let himself cry. He feels the tears start to prickle up in the corners of his eyes, feels the heat building in his chest, but his mind feels empty. Blank. Izuku doesn’t know why he’s crying, but he knows he can’t, not here. Not with the Gekkeiju watching. His survival replies on his ability to convince them he isn’t weak and useless, after all, and crying is something he only does because he’s weak. Izuku isn’t stupid, and he can see the little red light of a camera in the corner of the room, pointed so it’ll get the bathroom in the shot, too. 

Izuku can’t cry, can’t break down, so he sits on the futon and folds his arms over his chest so that his fingers and thumbs can dig into the healing cuts just below his elbows. The fabric of the sweatshirt he’s wearing is just soft enough that the bite isn’t quite what he wants, but he doesn’t dare pull his sleeves up. Izuku sits on the futon, breathing in and out slowly, carefully, and he focuses on the bright pain that blooms where he digs his fingertips into his skin. 

Izuku loses track of time, but the door opens and a brown paper bag is pushed in at some point. Izuku scrambles to the door to see who it is, but they’re shutting it and locking it behind them before he gets the chance. Instead, Izuku picks up the bag. It’s strangely heavy, and when Izuku glances inside, there are three water bottles, a protein bar, an apple, and two convenience store onigiri. Izuku takes everything out of the bag and sets it down beside his futon before eating. It’s not enough to quite fill his stomach, which tells him he’s been in this room for longer than it seems, but it’s something. Izuku drinks one of the water bottles and sets the other two aside before he tries, once again, to sleep some of the time away.

When the door opens the next time, Izuku is awake and sitting up on the futon, practicing his English in his head. It hasn’t been going very well, probably because Izuku doesn’t have any of his notes or something to write on, but it means that he’s alert and already facing the door when he hears the knob click as it’s unlocked. He glances up to see Fury, his red hair bright even in the dim light, and he’s wearing dark, practically black sunglasses that cover both of his eyes. Izuku slams his eyes shut as soon as he realizes who it is, and he hears Fury snort softly.

“It doesn’t work through the sunglasses,” he says. “Thought you’d know that.”

“I guessed, but it’s better safe than sorry with your quirk,” Izuku says, cracking one eye open cautiously. Fury is dressed in a dark navy suit with a white undershirt and a crimson tie that makes his red hair stand out even brighter. He steps into the room just a few steps, his shoes clicking on the floor. 

“It’s time,” Fury says. “We’ll meet up with Manami, and then you’re going to meet the boss. Consider yourself lucky--not many people get to talk to her so easily.” He turns, starting to walk back out of the room, and Izuku stands, scrambling to follow after him. He notices that Fury doesn’t lock the door behind him, doesn’t even shut it, and Izuku tugs it closed himself before following Fury to where he knows the elevators are.

Izuku can feel his heart pounding in his ears as Fury presses the elevator call button before sliding his hands into the pockets of his slacks, waiting with a bored look on his face. Izuku situates himself so that Fury’s sunglasses block all of his eyes, and it helps with the way his throat is growing tight, but only a little. Fury glances up at him, and Izuku can just barely see his eyes narrowing behind the sunglasses.

“You act like you’ve felt it before,” Fury says, voice low, curious. “The pain aspect of my quirk, that is.” Izuku watches the line of his shoulders, relaxed and at ease.  _ Fury isn’t intimidated by me in the slightest _ , Izuku realizes.  _ He’s confident that he could take me alone, even without knowing my quirk _ .

“If things had gone differently, I would have felt it,” Izuku answers, breathing out slowly through the sentence. Fury shrugs, humming under his breath.

“Hmm. You’re a strange one, that’s for sure,” he says, his voice almost a chuckle The elevator beeps softly, and Izuku watches as the doors slide open. Fury jerks his head at the elevator cabin, and Izuku blinks before stepping inside. Fury follows after him, pressing the first floor button with a pale knuckle. Izuku can see scars there, the kind you get from punching people in the teeth or from your fists colliding with something hard. Fighting scars. Izuku has some that match, but his are pale and pink on the surface of his skin, and Fury’s are almost blood red. His skin is paler than Izuku’s, but he seems to scar in raised red lines, too, which Izuku does not. Izuku tears his gaze away, stares at the elevator doors instead. 

The elevator comes to a stop and it beeps electronically at them before the doors slide open. Izuku steps out, first, and Fury follows close behind, moving to walk ahead of Izuku as they walk out into the lobby Izuku’d been in that first time.

Yamamoto is still behind the desk, but her hair is styled differently. Izuku can’t actually  _ remember _ what it’d been like the first time through, but now it’s in a neat braid. She glances up briefly from her computer when they step into the room.

“Lord Fury,” she says. “Should I send word up?” Her fingers hover over the keys, and Fury nods.

“Tell her that Manami, Midoriya, and I will be up shortly,” he says, then turns, glancing around the lobby. Izuku finds his own eyes wandering to the television that had been on last time, and sure enough, the news is on. 

The headline painted across the bottom of the screen reads, “Kamino Aftermath--Symbol of Peace passes on the torch?” in bright bold letters, and Izuku finds he can’t tear his eyes away from it. He watches as the screen cycles through a number of images, images of a skeletal All Might and of Kacchan, bound and struggling. Images of Kirishima, Iida, Todoroki, Yaoyorozu, Kendou, and Monoma pulling Kacchan away from Kurogiri and Shigaraki, images of a man with a strange headpiece standing and facing All Might. Images of Mirio, wearing his costume with a bright smile on his face, standing at All Might’s side. Images of Eraserhead holding Kacchan, escorting him into an ambulance. Images of other pro heroes, some injured and some well, some  _ dead _ . Izuku stares at the screen, and everything else bleeds away. The scene at Kamino is dark, with embers that drift like red fireflies through the ruins. Izuku feels strange, looking at it.

According to the date on the screen, Izuku has been at the Gekkeiju’s facility for a little over three days. He feels sick to his stomach as he watches the reporter on screen talk, her mouth moving without a single sound coming out. Izuku can see Fury watching him, out of the corner of his eyes, but it doesn’t matter. Izuku takes a few steps closer to the screen, close enough to read the subtitles. He sees Manami poke her head up from one of the couches, this time with her hair in pigtails as usual, but he doesn’t spare her a glance.

“ _ All Might has announced his retirement, stating that he will be teaching and training his successor, Lemillion, full time. What this means for hero society remains unclear, but after Lemillion’s heroic takedown of multiple members of the notorious League of Villains, including two ‘Noumu’ and the man who appears to be leading the operation, citizens have hope. _ ” The reporter smiles, eyes crinkling up with the motion, and then her face becomes more serious. “ _ To continue the story with U.A. High, school officials have reported that all students present at the Kamino Incident are alive and will make full recoveries. The school has declined to comment on the status of the investigation regarding the second missing student, identified as Izuku Midoriya, who has yet to be recovered. While it is unclear at this juncture, some have begun to speculate that Midoriya has been killed. After a kidnapping, the highest chances of survival are typically between-- _ ”

“Hey,” Fury says, his fingers snapping in front of Izuku’s face and startling him out of his fixation on the screen. “It’s time,” he says, and when Izuku turns to look at him, there’s clear annoyance on his face.

“Kazuo’s getting impatient,” Manami adds, and Izuku blinks in surprise to see that she’s no longer on the couch, instead standing just ahead of them, by a corridor Izuku hasn’t been down. “He’s such a bad big brother. Kazuo, don’t you know the younger sibling is supposed to be the one who rushes things? You’re supposed to be calm and collected!” She grins wide, giggling, but Izuku can see that her eyes aren’t hearts, and he can also hear the fondness in her voice. He glances to Fury and watches as he sighs, rolling his eyes so dramatically that Izuku would be able to tell that’s what he was doing even if Izuku couldn’t kind of see through his sunglasses. 

“Yeah, yeah, just start blabbing our whole family tree to the prisoner,” he grumbles, walking forward with a quick glance back at Izuku. “Follow.” It’s a clear order, and Izuku doesn’t hesitate, even though his eyes slip back to the television for just a moment. He wonders if his mom is watching the same broadcast. Wonders if she’s the one that gave his name to the media, since he doesn’t think that UA or Kacchan would have. 

“Well, it’s kind of obvious, anyway,” Manami says, twirling a finger around in one of her ponytails. She’s dressed differently than Izuku’s ever seen her before, wearing calf-high black leather boots and blood red knee highs with black stripes at the top. She’s wearing a black dress that comes to just above her knees, and over it, a deep red blazer. Izuku can see that there are black bows tied up in her pigtails, and he wonders if there’s a special occasion or if this villain group is just really fond of formal clothes. Izuku gets what she means about it being obvious, too--he’s surprised he didn’t put it together sooner, really. Fury and Manami look alike, with the only real difference being that Manami is about Izuku’s height and has tan skin, while Fury is tall and pale. 

“Should we give him our blood types and dates of birth while we’re at it, too?” Fury asks, sarcasm thick in his voice. Manami just laughs, shaking her head as they walk along the corridor. Izuku can see elevators at the end, these ones with smoother, more polished doors than the ones that went to the basement. There are two, again, and only one button--these must not go down to the basement. Manami presses the button, first, and something occurs to Izuku.

“Does it have to be your hands that touch you, to activate your quirk?” he asks, and Fury whips his head around to glare at him. “Or if you crossed your legs and the skin of your knees touched, would that do it?”

“Oh, well--” Manami starts, looking back at him with wide eyes and a big smile, but Fury cuts her off.

“Don’t answer that,” he snaps. “Midoriya, you’d do well to keep your mouth shut. Don’t forget the position you’re in here.” His gaze rakes over Izuku’s body, his golden eye appearing almost hazel behind the dark glasses. “Even without my quirk, I could make you hurt so badly you wished you were dead.” 

Izuku nods, but it takes a little bit of effort for him not to crack a joke at that. He’s not going to tell Fury that it doesn’t really take much for him to wish he was dead. Instead, he follows after Manami as she steps into the elevator, all too aware of Fury close behind him. The elevator is large enough that they all have a fair amount of space between them, and Izuku watches as Fury presses the button for the seventh floor. It’s the last button on the panel, confirming what Miura had told him. The elevator chimes softly, and they start to rise, Izuku’s body shifting slightly with the motion. 

“Were you wondering if they were looking for you?” Fury asks as they rise, and Izuku glances over at him. 

“I-I wanted to know if my friends were okay,” Izuku answers, confused, and Fury just snorts.

“I don’t even think they’re actually investigating or whatever,” Fury says, his eyes sliding over to the side, a smirk on his lips. “I mean, they think you’re quirkless, right? Why would they try to get you back?” He chuckles, low under his breath, his eyes moving back to face the elevator door.

Izuku swallows. “They’re my friends,” he says, defending himself. “They care about me.”

“Sure,” Fury says, shrugging. “I don’t know that much about the quirkless, really. You’d know better than me. I just thought that people wouldn’t like you very much. Maybe they’d be polite, since it’s easier that way, but they wouldn’t  _ really _ want a quirkless person around.” He shrugs again. “Like I said, I wouldn’t really know. But I thought that might be why nobody’s even looking for you.”

“Nobody’s...?” Izuku blinks, then shuts his mouth. The elevator dings softly, the doors sliding open to reveal the seventh floor, and Izuku hears a soft snort of amusement from Fury as he steps out ahead of Izuku, out of the elevator.

The seventh floor looks, for all intents and purposes, like some kind of luxury office or apartment. Izuku isn’t really familiar with either of those things, but the elevator opens out into a wide corridor that ends about thirty feet in front of them with large floor to ceiling windows and a sitting area with ivory colored couches. The ground here is polished, red-brown wood, and the walls are painted a slate grey. There are a number of doors to the left, but only one on the wall to the right. Potted plants with thick, glossy green leaves flank the elevators on either side, and Izuku can see hanging baskets full of ivy and something that blooms a bright yellow hanging by the windows. There are paintings hung on the walls, landscapes of wheat fields and thick, verdant jungles, still lifes of pears and apples and oranges, and a painting of an angel with large, tawny wings, herding sheep. Fury walks forward confidently, and Izuku follows hesitantly, Manami trailing behind him. He opens the first door on the left side, twisting the knob and pulling the door open. Izuku follows him inside. 

The room is fairly large, with a large blue and white rug that covers most of the hardwood floor. There’s a red-brown leather couch facing the door, just in front of another floor to ceiling window, and both of the other walls are completely covered with bookshelves that display hundreds of books of varying colors and sizes. A low coffee table sits in front of the couch, and across from the couch, closer to the door, is a long ottoman, upholstered with the same dark leather. Potted flowers, blooming red and yellow and gold, sit in a pair of urns in the back of the room, against the window. Izuku can see the city through it, bright and bustling.

Sitting on the couch, with a large pair of black and gold feathered wings sprouting from her back and a pair of twisted, golden-brown ram’s horns growing from her temples, is a woman. She looks about the same age as Midnight, if Izuku had to guess, and she has jaw length black hair cut in a neat bob and tanned skin. She’s wearing a loose black tank top that reveals the strong, thick muscle on her shoulders and forearms, and there’s golden chains decorating her throat and arms, twisting and curling around her. She’s wearing a skirt that’s shorter in the front than it is in the back, a deep, rich olive green fabric that looks like it’s layered. She wears golden chains on her ankles, too, and Izuku can see that she’s wearing black sandals. 

If anything, even more than the golden jewelry, even more than the wings and the horns, the part of her that stands out the most is her eyes. They’re a bright, acidic yellow-green, and Izuku can tell even in the bright light that they’re glowing, shining and putting out light like a glowstick. Her pupils are rectangular, like that of a goat, and she watches Izuku with half lidded eyes and a smile that crinkles the edges of her eyes slightly. 

“Izuku Midoriya,” she purrs. “Have a seat.” She gestures to the ottoman, and Izuku hears the door shut behind him--probably Manami’s doing. He swallows, thickly. Something in his mind is setting off alarm bells just being around her; he feels like a mouse approaching an eagle. Her eyes track him as he shuffles past Fury, walking carefully and slowly over to the ottoman. He sits on the edge of it, directly across him, and she sighs contentedly, her smile curling further up her face.

“I presume you haven’t heard of me,” she says, and Izuku can hear a slight American accent in her voice, even though she  _ looks _ Japanese. “My name is Maiko Sasaki. I am the mother of the Gekkeiju.” She leans back on the couch, folding her hands together and resting them on top of her crossed legs, watching Izuku. Izuku gets the sense that she’s waiting for him to speak, but he isn’t sure what, exactly, he’s meant to say here.

“I-It’s nice to meet you,” he stutters out, unsure. Her eyebrows raise slightly, her eyes crinkling.

“It’s lovely to meet you as well,” she says. “It’s so nice to meet someone who doesn’t forget their manners.” She leans forward slightly, sitting up straight. “I would like to hear about your quirk. Kazuo has told me you have quite the interesting one.” 

Izuku nods, hesitantly. “It’s, um.” He pauses, takes a breath. “What do you want to know?” he asks, instead.  _ She’s trying to get me to give information, _ he realizes.  _ She thinks she’ll get a broader response if she doesn’t ask a simple question _ .

She stares at him with half lidded eyes. “Start with the basics,” she says. “Tell me what your quirk does.” Izuku doesn’t think she’s blinked even once since he entered the room. 

Izuku takes a deep breath. “I can see potential futures,” he says. “Mulligan--that’s what I’ve named it--lets me choose to see a potential future when I’m in danger.” He sticks with the description he’s given to Aizawa, just in case the Gekkeiju had somehow gotten a hold of that information. Sasaki tips her head to the side, just slightly, her mouth a soft ‘o’ shape.

“In danger?” She brings a hand to her chin, the pad of her thumb resting on the bottom of her lower lip. “How much danger would you need to be in?” Her teeth are sharp, Izuku realizes. If he wasn’t so nervous, he might wonder about what on earth kind of mutation quirk she has. 

“M-Mortal danger,” Izuku says, swallows. “There needs to be a risk of me dying.” He feels his heart beat pick up, feels a prickle of nerves as Sasaki’s lips spread into a wide smile that shows her too-sharp teeth. She moves the hand that had been on her chin, reaching behind her, and she pulls out a pistol, pointing it directly at Izuku’s head. She grips it with one hand first, then the second, her fingers wrapping around her first hand. Izuku can see her finger on the trigger, her elbows slightly bent as she holds the pistol aimed at his head.

“Is this enough?” She asks, laughter in his voice. “I think we should play a little game, Midoriya. Prove that you’re not lying about having a quirk. Tell me what I’m about to say.” She grins wide, her eyes nearly shut from the way her smile presses them up, her teeth, sharp and feline, showing. Izuku stares, wide eyed, as he feels his stomach drop to the floor.

“T-That’s not--” he swallows. “I-I don’t know,” he says, shaking his head, raising his hands up by his head. “That’s not how it works.” 

Sasaki nods, a thoughtful look on her face, then she turns the pistol slightly to the side and fires a shot, the sound of the gun firing rattling Izuku’s ears and making him flinch as he feels the bullet fly past his head, only a foot or so to the left of him. He turns, sees the bullet hole in the door they’d come from. Fury and Manami, where they stand in the back of the room, look unconcerned, although Fury is covering his ears and grimacing at the noise. 

“Is that better?” Sasaki asks, and Izuku looks back to her as the gun is once again pointed at his head. “Is it dangerous enough, yet? Tell me what I’m going to tell  _ you _ .” 

Izuku takes a deep breath, the movement shaky and uneven in his lungs. “I-I can’t,” he says, almost a whisper, and Sasaki sighs.

“Well, that’s a real shame,” she says, her eyebrows furrowing and turning up in the middle, a sad smile on her face. “I’ll tell you anyway, before I kill you.It’s only polite, isn’t it? Plus, if you hadn’t been lying about your quirk, you’d need me to be willing to say it no matter what you said, I imagine.” She grins again, then stands up, the gun pointing at Izuku, calm and steady, even as she gets to her feet. 

Sasaki  _ towers _ over him, her wings spreading slightly. “My quirk,” she says, “is not my wings, my horns, or my eyes.” She tilts her head up and back, her eyes narrowing until they’re almost shut. “My quirk is called Imposition. I think it’s a fairly mean name, all things conflicted, but they almost named it Infliction, which would have been worse.” She shuts her eyes for just a second, huffs out a small laugh, and stares Izuku straight in the eyes.

“I could do a lot of things to you, Izuku Midoriya. I could give you the feeling of any number of sensations. I could  _ impose _ upon you any of the many things I’ve experienced.” She blows out a breath, and it whistles, slightly, in her teeth. “But I have a favorite,” she says. “My moniker overseas was inspired by it. I wouldn’t expect you to have heard of me, unless you know anybody in America.” She smiles, tipping her head to the side, and Izuku is suddenly very, very warm.

It doesn’t come on slowly, not like Fury’s quirk. Izuku is normal one moment, and the next, he is filled with a crushing, intense heat. His heart beats too fast in his chest, and he’s breathing too fast, far too fast, and he can see his skin flushing red when he looks down at his hands. His vision is swirling and moving, and he can smell something strange--clean and green, like a freshly mown lawn or cut hay. 

“How do you like it?” Sasaki asks, and Izuku looks up at her, confused. How did he like what? Why does he feel so bad, all of a sudden? Izuku just wants a drink of water.

“‘S hot,” he says, blinking. Sasaki smiles, shrugs. She’s pointing a gun at him, and Izuku finds himself staring down the barrel.

“That’s heatstroke,” Sasaki says. “I was on a farm in the summertime, when it happened to me. That’s why you can smell the hay.” She tips her head, breathes out evenly. “That’s why they called me Phosgene, over in the states. I think it has a nice ring to it, don’t you?” Her eyes are too bright for Izuku to look at, even as he squints, his eyes burning like he’s in bright sunlight. He feels too hot, his skin itchy, and then he feels normal, again. The sensation is gone as quickly as it’d appeared, and Izuku blinks, staring at Sasaki.

“Imposition,” he breathes. “Infliction. You can inflict things you’ve felt on other people?” he asks, eyes wide, and Sasaki brightens, grinning again. 

“You’re a smart one, aren’t you?” She sighs, rolling her shoulders back with the motion. “Too bad you have to die. Bye bye, Midoriya,” she says, and Izuku hears another gunshot. He feels something like a hot, tugging fire in his forehead, and then nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: nothing special i don't think? a little torture
> 
> [discord!](https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt)
> 
> THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH!!!! im so glad that yall are sticking with this fic even as it deviates so heavily from canon! i promise that there will be characters other than the OCs and izuku again soon!!! this arc is just pretty much exclusively gekkeiju + izuku for.... obvious reasons.... 
> 
> also! im probably gonna make a carrd for this fic soon that includes a bunch of fanart ppl have done as well as a timeline + my links :3c


	45. captivity, part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku meets a very scary lady who shoots him and tells him some cool and fun facts about herself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GAMERS school got canceled again bc it's fuckin COLD here and all I've done today is nothing <3

Izuku opens his eyes to the click of a doorknob and the feeling of tangled, greasy hair in his hand. He blinks, pulling his hand away, and the way the tips of his fingers tingle and the fine bones of his head start to ache tells him that he’s running out of tries. Mouse is in front of him, staring up at him with her huge, wet eyes as Izuku turns to face Miura. 

“Miura,” he says, before she can ask if they’re done. “I need to speak with Sasaki.” Miura blinks, her brows furrowing slightly, and her eyes shift behind Izuku, to Mouse.

“Mousey?” she asks, voice soft, but with a warning underneath. “What did you tell him, kiddo?” Mouse blinks, but Izuku answers.

“She didn’t tell me anything,” he says. “I used my quirk. I need to talk to Sasaki  _ now _ . It can’t wait a few days.” He takes a deep, steadying breath and looks Miura in the eyes. Her dark eyes stare back at him, searching for something in his gaze. 

“Okay,” she says. “She really is busy right now, though. I’ll speak with Kazuo and Manami and see what I can arrange.” She twists her mouth slightly, then breathes out a small breath of air, turning to the door. “You’ll need to wait for now, though,” she says, casting a glance over her shoulder, her low pigtails shifting with the motion. Izuku follows her as she leads him out of the room, giving Mouse a small smile and a wave as he does. She watches him, face expressionless, as the door closes behind him and Miura turns to lock it.

“What do you need to speak with her about?” Miura asks, serious but quiet, soft in the hallway as she tugs the keys out of the lock. She turns to him, head tilted slightly, and Izuku finds himself staring at the healing bruises on her face.

“I-I want to make a deal,” Izuku says, swallowing back against the way his heart starts to flutter ever-so-slightly in his chest. “I have some information that could be of use to her.” Miura’s eyes narrow the slightest bit, then she sighs, turning and walking forward. Izuku follows after her. 

“Something  _ is  _ going on right now that requires her attention,” Miura says as she leads Izuku to the room she’d put him in last time, unlocking the door and pushing it open. “I can get you an audience with her today, though, if I tell her about you being Ace.” Izuku tips his head to the side slightly at her, blinking.

“She doesn’t know? I thought you would have told her,” he says, and Miura sighs, her gaze dropping to the floor.

“It wasn’t necessary to report at the time,” she says, quietly. “Someone will come get you in an hour or two.” Izuku steps inside the room, turning back to look at Miura, expecting her to close the door. She stands there, though, backlit from the light in the hallway, chewing on her bottom lip. 

“Miura?” Izuku asks, and she purses her lips, shaking her head.

“How far into the future can you see, with your quirk?” she asks. “I just... there’s something I’m wondering about.” She looks up from the floor, meeting Izuku’s eyes. Izuku blinks.

“Not very far,” he says. “A few days, at the most.” He gives her a small smile. “I’m sorry,” he offers, and she shakes her head. 

“Don’t be,” she says, and she steps out of the room, shutting the door behind her. Izuku hears the knob click, and he moves to turn on the bathroom light. The darkness soothes his headache a little, which he takes as a gift as he sits on the futon cross legged to wait. 

\--

After three days, a couple of hours feels like nothing at all. Izuku has only had a few sips of water, only sat on the futon and thought, not even slept, when he hears the doorknob click. Izuku sits upright, and just like last time, it’s Fury he sees in the doorway. He’s wearing different clothes, though, just a white long sleeved button down tucked into dark grey slacks with his sunglasses covering his eyes. He opens the door, and Izuku gets to his feet, glancing up at him. 

“It’s time,” Fury says, looking at Izuku. In the darkness, Izuku can’t make out the shape of his eyes through the dark glasses. “So you’ve got some interesting night time hobbies, huh kid?” 

“That’s one way to put it,” Izuku answers, shrugging. Fury snorts, stepping back and opening the door wider. Izuku blinks when he sees Miura and Manami both standing in the hallway. Miura is dressed the same as before, but Manami has changed into a white button down and a navy blue pleated skirt. Izuku tries not to look at the wounds on her legs as he steps out into the hallway, unsure of who to make eye contact with. Manami makes the decision easy for him, smiling wide and bouncing on her heels.

“Midoriya!” she chirps. “You had a quirk this whole time, huh? A really really cool one, too!” She reaches a hand out towards him, her fingers stretched out as if to touch his face, but Miura slaps her hand away.

“Behave,” she says, giving Manami a glare. Manami sticks her tongue out at Miura, and Fury sighs as he starts towards the elevators. 

“She’s already waiting,” he says, casting a glance back at the three of them. “I’m sure she’d be happy to let you have him for a few hours afterward, if he survives,” Fury says, meeting Izuku’s gaze as he says it, the edge of a smile creeping up his lips. “From the looks of it, we’ll have him for as long as we want.” Izuku swallows, but he doesn’t reply as they walk to the elevators, Miura and Manami behind him and Fury in front. It’s a short distance, and the sounds of their footsteps on the floor is slightly masked by Manami humming softly under her breath, a tune Izuku doesn’t recognize. Fury presses the call button for the elevator, and it chimes softly. 

The ride up to the first floor is quiet. Izuku isn’t sure why he’d expected them to talk, but the Gekkeiju surround him in the elevator and simply wait. Izuku finds his gaze catching on the bruises visible on Miura’s legs, on her face. Manami and Fury aren’t bruised the same way, and he wonders if it’s part of her quirk, or if her job is simply more dangerous. He has a feeling it’s something other than that. 

They step out onto the first floor, Fury once again going first and Manami and Miura taking the rear. Izuku finds his gaze sliding over to the television, catching on the news broadcast that seems to always be playing. This time, he’s greeted by a scene that’s labelled with  _ LIVE!  _ in bright bold letters at the top of the screen. There’s fire and rubble, dust in the air and embers that climb to the night sky, and Izuku can see All Might standing in his skeletal form, side by side with Mirio. Mirio has a wide smile on his face, and as Izuku sees him start to speak, he realizes he knows exactly what Mirio is saying.

“I am here,” Izuku whispers under his breath, in time with Mirio, and he watches as the feed suddenly cuts to another part of the scene. It shows Aizawa and a few police officers, leading Kacchan, Kirishima, Todoroki, Yaoyorozu, Monoma, Iida, and Kendou to an ambulance. Aizawa is helping Kacchan, who’s bleeding from one leg, and Izuku realizes it’s the live version of the reporting he’d seen the reset before this. The feed changes back to Mirio and All Might, showing Mirio rush forward with a punch that sparks red and gold, but Izuku’s attention is dragged away.

“Oi,” Fury says, snapping his fingers. Izuku blinks, turning to look at him. Fury is glaring at him through his glasses, his lips turned down in a scowl. “Are you done, or should I wait,” he asks, rolling his eyes. 

“S-Sorry,” Izuku says, blinking and hurrying to follow the man as he starts down the hallway that Izuku knows leads to the elevators. Fury just huffs out an annoyed sigh, and Izuku bites at his lip.

“I bet you were hoping to see something about yourself, huh?” Fury asks as he presses the button to summon the elevator. It opens almost immediately, and he steps inside. 

“Not really,” Izuku replies, shrugging. Fury raises an eyebrow at him, and Izuku steps onto the elevator, with the girls following close behind him.

“I guess you’re probably used to people forgetting about you,” Fury says, shrugging. Izuku pointedly ignores him, instead watching the floor indicator at the top of the elevator tick up as they pass the fifth and sixth floors, finally stopping on the seventh. The door opens to the seventh floor, to the large hallway with the hardwood floor and the numerous paintings and potted plants. There’s no natural light filtering in from the window, this time, and the ceiling lights cast a soft, warm, yellow glow over the space. It would feel almost homey, if Izuku hadn’t been shot in the head last time he was up here.

“Conference room,” Miura says softly from behind Izuku, and he blinks as Fury nods, turns and walks to the third door on the left side of the room instead of the first door, like last time. Izuku follows behind, the bottoms of his too-big sweatpants dragging on the wood as Fury opens the door, pushing it inward. 

The room is bigger than the last one, with a long, oval table taking up the majority of the space. Its polished surface is the same color as the flooring, which is mostly covered by a rug identical to the one in the other room. The walls are lined with bookshelves on the left wall, but to the right, multiple large television screens are hung on the wall. Most of them are off, but two near the center are one, one displaying the same news broadcast that had been on downstairs, and the other showing a recording of what looks like Aizawa and Nezu speaking to reporters, dressed formally and looking apologetic. The conference table in the center of the room is surrounded by dark brown leather office chairs, padded and luxurious.

Sasaki is seated at the head of the table, her back to the window that makes up the back wall of the room. She’s wearing a crisp, black suit, this time, with a white undershirt and an olive tie that shines gold in the light. Her hands, where they’re steepled in front of her face, elbows resting on the table, are adorned with gold rings with chains attaching some of them to one another. Her glowing green eyes are fixed on Izuku, but Izuku is looking at the seat next to her.

Sitting cross legged in a chair that’s been pulled away from the table, Mouse is watching the three of them with wide eyes. She’s dressed the same as before, and she’s clutching a small, wrinkled and sootstained piece of paper in her tiny hands. She stands out like a sore thumb in the room, filthy and small and scared. Izuku meets her eyes and gives her a tiny smile that she doesn’t return. 

“Izuku Midoriya,” Sasaki says, her voice warm with her smile as she tips her head to the side, black hair falling around her horns. “Have a seat. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Maiko Sasaki,” Izuku replies, looking to her and holding her gaze as he steps forward, taking the seat opposite her at the table. “It’s a pleasure,” he adds, remembering her reaction to manners last time. She brightens up, eyes widening slightly, so he figures that was the right move. 

“Oh, the pleasure’s all mine,” she says, leaning back in her chair and pulling her hands back, resting them on her lap. “Now, I’ve been told you have information I could use?”

Izuku nods, swallowing. “I-I do,” he says. The pounding in his head is grounding, he thinks, but it also gets worse as his heart rate ticks up. “I know that you’re Maiko Sasaki, leader of the Gekkeiju. I know that you’re Phosgene, or at least that’s what you were known as in America. I know that your quirk,” he takes a deep breath, meets her eyes, “is not your horns, your wings, or your eyes. I know that it is called Imposition, and that had this conversation gone differently, you would have asked me to tell you what you were going to say.” He clenches his jaw and fixes his gaze to hers. “Isn’t that right?”

Sasaki doesn’t even blink, just tipping her head to the side slightly and watching ghim with half lidded eyes and a slight smile. “That’s right,” she purrs, voice low and rough. “How’d you know?”

“My quirk, Mulligan, lets me see the future if I’m in danger,” Izuku says. He tries to fill his voice with confidence, with strength. “I can see potential paths the future can take.” 

Sasaki hums. “Mm, so I suppose you know that you’re in danger, already?” Her lips quirk up, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “That certainly makes this more interesting.” She reaches behind her, and Izuku knows even before he sees it that she’s pulling out her handgun. She levels the gun at him, pointing it at his head. Izuku doesn’t let himself react, instead watching Sasaki with a blank face even as she wraps her hands around the gun.

“We’re going to play a game, Midoriya.” She taps her fingernails on the side of the gun, the metal making a soft clicking noise as she does. “Mouse is going to ask you some questions, and you’ll answer them. Easy enough?” 

Izuku blinks, then shrugs. “Sure,” he replies, glancing over to Mouse. She’s not even looking at the gun; instead, her eyes are glued to the paper in her hands.

“Mouse, dearie, go ahead,” Sasaki says, pulling one hand away from the gun and resting that elbow on the table, her cheek cradled in her hand. Her head is tilted as she watches Izuku with a smile that’s too wide.

“When have you used your quirk in this facility?” Mouse asks, reading off of the paper. Izuku watches her instead of Sasaki. 

“That’s kind of a hard question to answer,” Izuku replies. “I’ve used it a few times, so.” He shrugs, noting the way that Sasaki shifts in her chair slightly.

“Are you the same person as the vigilante known as Ace?” Mouse peeks up from over the paper at him.

“I am,” Izuku replies, watches the red firelight in Mouse’s eyes flash and fade away. 

“Do you care about me?” Mouse’s fingers shake as she asks the question, and Izuku can’t help the way he blinks in surprise, his brows furrowing. He glances over at Sasaki, who’s grinning wide, too-sharp teeth showing. 

“I do,” he answers, truthfully, and he sees Mouse flinch, then blink, eyes wide and confused. She looks up at him, mouth slightly open, and beside her, Sasaki laughs.

“Perfect!” she says. “Well done, Midoriya,” she says, chuckling lightly and setting the gun down on the table in front of her. “We can talk about the deal you mentioned to Sumire, then. What exactly is it that you want from me?” 

Izuku blinks, swallows. “I-I want you to let me go,” he says, meeting her eyes. “And I want to take Mouse and Avenging Angel with me.” Sasaki’s eyes widen, just a fraction, and then she’s smiling, open mouthed, laughing. Her eyes almost shut as she tips her head back, her laughs rising into a loud cackle that fills the room.

“Oh,” she says, leaning forward and wiping tears from her eyes. “Aren’t you precious? I hope you have something good to offer in return.” She leans forward on the table, eyes wide and mouth still smiling. “I mean, you must understand how hard it is to acquire assets like Mouse and Angel. What is it that you’ll give me in return, hmm?” Izuku opens his mouth, then closes it. His head hurts, and his fingers are tingling, and he doesn’t know what to say, not with Sasaki staring at him like that, like he’s an actor on a stage, giving a comedy routine. 

“I-I can use my quirk to help you,” he says, licking his chapped lips. “I can give you information.” He hears the quiver in his own voice, and he curses himself for it.  _ I didn’t think this through well enough _ .

Sasaki sighs, shaking her head and rolling her eyes, like she’s fondly exasperated at a friend’s bad joke. It’s a contrast to what she does, reaching down with one hand to pick up the gun from the table, stretching her arm out and pointing it to her left, directly at Mouse. Izuku feels a chill run down his spine, like ice water on his skin, as Mouse gazes up at it, fear burning in her dark eyes. 

“It’s such a shame, really,” Sasaki says, puffing out her cheeks and shaking her head. “You would have made such a good villain, you know? I’d imagine that with your legal quirklessness, you have more than enough reason to hate the heroic society.” She looks at the nails on the hand that isn’t holding the gun, picking at them idly. “If I were you, I would have joined us instead. It’d make a much better negotiating point, you know? I already have plenty of information, but having a new pawn is always so nice.” She glances up at him, grinning wide. “I guess you should have looked at a couple more futures, hmm? Maybe then you would have known that I don’t care for heroic types. Trying to save her,” she shakes her gun in Mouse’s direction, “is really just annoying, in my opinion.”

“So,” she says, eyes narrowing. “Mouse is going to ask you a question, and you’re going to lie. If you don’t, I’ll shoot her.” She glances to Mouse, whose eyes have started to tear up, her bottom lip wobbling.

“I don’t wanna kill Izuku,” Mouse sniffles, her fingers crinkling the paper she still clutches. “Mouse is dangerous. Lying to Mouse makes alive people turn dead.” 

“Oh, Mouse,” Sasaki says, sighing. “If you don’t, he’s going to die anyway, silly. And then you’ll have to spend a few days with Mr. Kazuo, and you won’t like that very much, will you?” She shakes her head, sighing. “I don’t want to have to punish you.”

“It’s okay, Mouse,” Izuku says, giving the child a smile. He sees Sasaki’s acid green eyes shift over to look at him. “You can ask me. It’s okay.”

Mouse nods, her little head bobbing up and down. “Are you going to hate Mouse? For killing you,” she says, voice quiet. Izuku sees the flash of fire in the bottoms of her irises.

“Remember to lie, Midoriya,” Sasaki says, voice singsong. Her finger is resting on the trigger of the pistol. 

“Yes,” Izuku says, and he sees the bright fire fill Mouse’s eyes, turning the coal-dark eyes into bright, glowing embers. He fills the heat in his chest, and he coughs, smoke bubbling out of him. He hopes that this next reset won’t make him too sick to try again.

“I’m sorry,” Mouse says, and Izuku can see tears running down her cheeks, drawing clean lines in the soot there. “I don’t want you to hate me,” she says, crushing the paper in her hands, staring at Izuku. “I don’t want you to hate Mouse, but I don’t want you to die either,” she says, voice heavy with tears.

“‘S okay,” Izuku says, coughing up a wisp of smoke. “I won’t hate you,” he says, and just like that, the fire in Mouse’s eyes and Izuku’s lungs snuffs out. Izuku blinks, a hand coming up to feel at his chest. He can feel an unnatural heat seeping through his sweatshirt, but it’s fading, and even though his lungs still itch and burn, he can tell that it’s not growing, not any more. Mouse is staring at him, open mouthed, as Sasaki tsks in annoyance.

“Damn,” she says, pointing the gun at Izuku instead. “I should have known you’d figure it out.” She wraps her other hand around the gun, a scowl on her face, her eyes boring into him as her lip curls up, showing her razor-sharp teeth.

“It ends if you tell the truth,” Izuku says, his voice raspy with smoke, “doesn’t it?” His gaze flickers to Mouse, who’s staring at him, mouth open and eyes wide. She blinks at him, but Izuku has to tear his eyes away to watch Sasaki.

“It does,” she says, eyes half lidded. “Like I said before, it’s a real shame you felt the need to be a hero. I could have done so much with someone as smart as you,” she says, and Izuku sees the muscles in her arms tense before he hears the click of the trigger and the bang of the gunshot. He shuts his eyes before the bullet goes through his forehead, and he hopes that he  _ has _ another reset in him.

\--

Izuku feels the nausea, first, but it’s the burning in his hands and feet that makes him wince when he wakes back up, standing with his hand on Mouse’s head. She flinches at the motion, and Izuku swallows back a mouthful of spit as he pulls his hand away.

“Sorry,” he says to her, and she blinks at him. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” She just stares at him, and he makes himself take a deep breath, resisting the urge to throw up. His stomach is burning like Mouse’s quirk is activated on it, and his head is pounding with a heavy pain, blurring his vision and sending shocks of pain through his temples and jaw. His fingers and feet tingle strangely, painfully, and as he turns to the door, just in time for it to click, he feels unsteady on his feet. 

Miura opens the door, and Izuku watches as a strange expression passes over her face. She glances behind Izuku, at Mouse, then back at him.

“Miura,” he says, just as she’s opening her mouth to speak. “I want to speak with Sasaki, immediately. Tell her that I’ve got an offer she can’t refuse, but that she should hurry if she doesn’t want to lose the chance.” Izuku watches Miura’s brows furrow, her mouth open slightly, before she sighs.

“I have a feeling I’m missing something,” she says, her gaze looking over Izuku. “Mouse, are you okay here?” she asks, not looking away from Izuku. 

“Mouse is okay,” Mouse says from behind him. “Sumire can leave Mouse.” Izuku glances back, but he regrets the motion as his vision blurs and warps. He squeezes his eyes shut, stumbling slightly to the side, and he feels a cool hand steady him, resting on his shoulder.

“Midoriya?” Miura asks, and when Izuku opens his eyes, there’s alarm in her voice. “Did you get hit by Mouse’s quirk?” 

“No,” Izuku replies, blinking away the black spots from his eyes. “This is from my own quirk,” he says, and her eyes widen slightly before she nods, sharply. 

“Okay,” she says, and then she releases his shoulder, steps back. “I can talk to Kazuo and Manami, and she’ll probably be willing to meet with you. If I tell her you’re Ace, it’ll be faster, but she has a lot going on right now.” She opens the door further, holding it open for Izuku, and he steps out into the hallway, his feet buzzing with each step.

“What, with the Kamino incident?” Izuku asks, and he sees Miura freeze, staring at him. “Or has that not happened yet?”

“I really thought you were quirkless,” Miura says, sighing and shaking her head as she shuts and locks the door. “That the Ace part was the ruse.”

Izuku blinks. “I was quirkless, for a while,” he says. “I didn’t know about my quirk until I was fourteen.” Miura looks at him, something unreadable in her gaze.

“You know that Sasaki will likely kill you,” she says, and it isn’t a question. “But you want to meet with her anyway?” 

“It’s the only way,” Izuku says. “I know that you would help me, if you could, but it won’t work” He sighs, meeting her eyes. “I’m sorry, Miura. I know you would have tried for me.”

She stares back at him, then sighs a heavy breath. “Of course you know,” she says, so quietly Izuku thinks it’s to herself. “Let’s go to the first floor.” She turns, starts walking, and Izuku blinks, following her. The walk to the elevator is familiar, but there’s something different about it. Izuku can’t ignore the way his feet are numb and tingling, and he walks strangely, not quite a limp but something else. His toes keep dragging against the ground, and he’s slow. Izuku knows Miura can tell, from the way she keeps looking back at him, but she doesn’t say anything about it, and for that, Izuku is grateful. She stops in front of the elevator, pressing the button and waiting. 

“You used your quirk in Mouse’s room,” she says, quietly. “Why wait until then?” Izuku glances up at her, but her gaze slides away to the elevator doors as they slide open.

“I have to be in danger,” Izuku answers and Miura nods, a soft breath escaping her.

“And Mouse is dangerous,” she says. It’s not a question, not an insult, but just a statement. 

“How old is she?” Izuku asks as they step onto the elevator, because he can’t help but wonder.

“I don’t know,” Miura replies, voice soft. She presses the button for the first floor. “At least five, not more than eight. She’s had her quirk for about three years.” Izuku swallows, nods.  _ If she got her quirk at the typical age, she’s probably seven or eight _ , he thinks to himself. Mouse only looks about five, and it hurts Izuku’s heart to think about it.

“Sasaki bought her?” Izuku asks, and Miura looks at him sharply.

“I shouldn’t be talking to you about this,” she says, and the warning in her voice is clear enough. Izuku nods, the motion worsening the ache in his head. He ignores it, though, and the elevator doors slide open. Miura marches out, and Izuku follows close behind her. 

“Yamamoto,” she says, glancing to the receptionist, who glances up at her, then quickly back down. “Where is Manami?”

“Right here!” Manami’s voice replies, from over in the television area where she’d been on that first reset. She pops up from the couch, her red hair loose and wavy. Yamamoto glances over, then back down at her computer, seemingly satisfied. Miura walks over to the couches, glancing back at Izuku, and he follows. Manami stares at them both, a curious expression on her face. The television is playing something different, though, and Izuku realizes it’s still earlier on than that first time. The news is showing a burning forest, a forest lit with blue flame, and it’s reporting that two UA students are missing and ten are injured. Izuku would be nervous if he didn’t know everyone lived. Manami glances up at him, then Miura. 

“What are you doing with Midoriya, Sumimi?” she asks, tilting her head to the side slightly. Miura sighs.

“He wants to speak with the boss,” she says. “Midoriya, explain.” Izuku blinks, looking at Manami.

“I need to speak with Sasaki immediately,” he says. “I have an offer to make her, but I’m not willing to wait.” He watches Manami blink.

“Okay!” she says, her face splitting into a grin. “She loves that kind of thing,” she says then reaches down into the couch. Izuku can’t see what she’s grabbing for, and for a brief moment his brain whispers that it’s a gun, but she pulls up a slim cell phone with a pink case, and she taps on the screen for a moment before holding it up to her ear. 

“Hi!” she chirps into the phone after a moment. “Your new acquisition wants to make you an offer, and he says it’s time sensitive. Sumimi is here with me now, but I could get Kaz too if you want.” She pauses, and Izuku can hear talking on the other end of the line.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Manami says, nodding. “I think he’s pretty serious about it. I can get Kaz to get it from Mouse while you’re talking to him?” She waits, then nods. “Okay! We’ll be up in a sec. Love you!” She pulls the phone away from her ear, tapping at it, then hitting a few more buttons. She holds it back to her ears, humming.

“ _ What. _ ” Fury’s voice is audible through the receiver, much louder than who Izuku had assumed was Sasaki. 

“Hi bro!” Manami says. “Midoriya is gonna talk with mom,” Izuku blinks at that, because there is  _ no way _ Sasaki is old enough to actually be her mother, “but she wants to know what he said to Mouse’s questions, so she wants you to get his answers and bring them up as soon as you’re done.”

“ _ What? How on earth did he-- _ ” Fury starts, and Manami interrupts him with a giggle.

“He’s gonna make her an offer! I dunno what, but it should be fun. See you in a bit!” She pulls the phone away from her ear, taping on the screen, then she straightens up, looking at Izuku and Miura.

“Are we good?” Miura asks, seemingly unfazed. She glances briefly at Izuku.

“Yep!” Manami replies, a smile on her face. “I’m kind of excited, you know? It’ll be really fun to watch you negotiate with her,” she says, looking at Izuku, then squinting and turning her head slightly to the side. “Do you have a fever? You’re kind of red...” she reaches out a hand, like she’s going to touch his forehead, but Miura bats her hand away. 

“It’ll be interesting, that’s for sure,” Miura replies. “Lets go. We don’t want to keep her waiting.” She turns, walking toward the elevators, and Izuku blinks before trailing after her. Manami catches up to him quickly, walking beside him with her hands in the pockets of her sweatpants. 

“Hey, Midoriya,” she says, leaning toward him. “What kind of deal are you planning to make?” Izuku stares back at her.

“A risky one,” he replies, turning his head to look at the elevators. As the doors slide open and Miura walks inside, Izuku follows. His head aches and throbs, and from the pain in his stomach and hands and head, Izuku knows this is his last chance.

_ I won’t mess this up _ , he tells himself.  _ I know what I have to do. This is my only choice. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: abuse, nausea/vomiting
> 
> [discord!](https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt)
> 
> I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED!!!! next chap should be the last one of this arc!! i wonder if y'all can guess what izuku is about to do :3c


	46. captivity, part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku gets killed by sasaki a couple more times, and now he's out of resets!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GAMERS :D

The elevator ride to the seventh floor is quiet, except for Manami’s humming. She’s bopping her head along to whatever song it is, but Miura doesn’t even seem to notice, staring at the elevator doors as they slowly climb to the top of the building. Izuku wants to lean against the wall of the elevator, but he can’t, not with the two of them here. As much as he thinks Miura is on his side, he also knows Manami won’t hesitate to kill him, given the chance. Izuku doesn’t want to look weak, not in this situation. 

The elevator doors open both too soon and not soon enough. Manami steps off first, into the hallway he’s seen twice before. Izuku follows, slowly, his feet dragging on the floor. He bites at his lower lip and tries to ignore the stinging in his toes, just like he’s ignoring the way his stomach feels heavy and painful in his gut. He can see that the door they’d gone into the first time, to the room with the couch and the ottoman, is open, and Manami seems to take that as a sign, headed directly for that room. Izuku wishes, briefly, that he’d had more time.

He follows Manami into the room, and it’s much the same as the first time. There’s the warm brown leather couch, the matching ottoman, and the coffee table. The long, floor to ceiling window on the back wall and the bookshelves on the others. This time, though, there’s a mug of steaming liquid on the coffee table, and Sasaki is dressed differently, in a loose, flowy black tank top and a pair of athletic shorts that highlight the thick curves of muscle in her legs. She’s not wearing any jewelry, either, but she looks just as relaxed and calm as each of the past two times Izuku’s met her. She’s sitting with her legs crossed, leaning back idly.

“Maiko Sasaki,” Izuku says as he walks into the room, and he bows, bending at the waist and staring at the floor. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He holds the position for as long as he can bear the way it makes blood pool in his temples, the way it makes his vision go fuzzy and strange, then he straightens up. Sasaki’s eyes are crinkled in delight, her smile wide and showing teeth.

“My, my,” she says, leaning forward. “I like you already, Izuku Midoriya. Have a seat,” she says, gesturing to the ottoman. Izuku walks around it to sit, trying his best to hide the shaking in his hands and the strange numbness in his feet. Unlike the first time, though, Manami sits down next to him, pulling out her phone. Izuku is pretty sure he sees Candy Crush on her screen, but he tugs his gaze away from Manami and back to Sasaki. 

“Now, I’ve been told you have an offer to make me,” Sasaki says, tipping her head back slightly. “I’ll be up front with you when I say that I’m rather fond of striking deals, but I’m also fairly hard to please. So I certainly hope this is worth my time.” She’s looking down at him, with her strange, goat-like eyes glowing in the light of the room. Izuku meets her gaze easily and prays that he’s judged her correctly.

“I have a quirk that lets me see possible futures,” Izuku says. “That’s how I know your name, your identity as Phosgene, and your quirk, Imposition.” He watches her eyes narrow, slightly, her shoulders raise in a small shrug.

“Mm,” she hums, “couldn’t you also just be talented at sneaking around, at gathering information?” She tips her head to the side, grins lazy and slow. “What do you call your little quirk?”

“Mulligan,” Izuku replies. “I would tell you the activation requirements, but then you’d take that gun you’ve got behind you and point it at my head, so I’d rather not.” He relishes the way Sasaki’s eyebrows jump up in surprise as she leans forward, blinking at him with wide eyes.

“Oh, so you really can see the future, hmm?” She tips her head to the side. “So, what’s this offer you’re making me?” She shifts her hands, resting them on top of her crossed legs, her fingers intertwining. She watches Izuku with half lidded eyes and a small smirk, and Izuku takes a deep breath before speaking.

“Have you heard of the vigilante known as Ace, Phosgene?” He meets her gaze, keeps his face carefully blank.  _ Everything relies on this. I can’t afford another reset. _

“I have,” she replies, tone even. “Why?”

“I am Ace,” Izuku says. “And until now, I’ve kept my identity as Ace separate from Izuku Midoriya.” He inhales, soft and gentle. “I’m legally quirkless, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

Sasaki nods. “I am. In fact, I’d planned to dispose of you because of it,” she says, grinning. “The quirkless aren’t of much use to me.” Izuku ignores the barb, ignores the attempt to get to him. It’s not hard, given that his head is full enough with just trying to remember what Sasaki had said to him in earlier resets.

“But someone who isn’t quirkless, yet is known as quirkless, would be,” Izuku says, and Sasaki blinks at him, slow and controlled. “I have plenty of reason to despise this heroic society,” he says, mirroring Sasaki’s earlier words, and her lips quirk up, ever so slightly as he continues speaking. “I think I’d make a rather useful tool.”

“What are you offering, Midoriya?” Sasaki asks, her tongue running over the bottom edge of her top teeth as she grins, wide and predatory. Izuku swallows. 

“I want to join the Gekkeiju,” he says, staring at her and fixing his face with a determined look. “I will become one of your  _ assets _ .” 

Sasaki raises an eyebrow, tilting her head and grinning. “Oh? And what do I get out of the deal?” Izuku mirrors her expression, raising an eyebrow and smiling. The expression feels wrong on his face, but it’s what he needs to do.

“That  _ is _ your part of the deal,” Izuku says. “In as many futures as I’ve seen, you haven’t told me the goals of your organization, but I know one thing. Seeing the future and getting inside information from UA will get you closer to  _ any _ goal. I’m far more valuable to you as a willing participant than I am as a prisoner or dead.” He watches as Sasaki’s eyes narrow even further, her smile dropping for just a second as she leans further forward, and he knows, even before she speaks, that he’s won.

“And what would you ask for in return?” she asks. “Is it enough for you to simply survive?” Izuku takes a slow breath, smiles.

“I want protection, and I want resources,” he says. “I’m a high school student, after all. I can’t purchase firearms, and if I’m caught as a spy, I’m sure you can imagine it wouldn’t be great for me.” Izuku swallows. “That’s the other thing. I’d like to pose as a double agent, of sorts. I already have a connection to Eraserhead as both Ace and as Izuku, and his quirk...” he sighs, biting at his lip. It’s not entirely acting. “It’s not a good match-up, for me.”

Sasaki snorts, softly. “Is it a good match for anyone other than mutation types?” she asks, then chuckles, light through her mouth. “You know, this isn’t what I’d expected from you, not at all. I wonder how many futures you saw where I killed you.” 

Izuku opens his mouth to reply but he stops when he hears the sound of a door opening, behind him. He turns, glancing back at the door. Manami doesn’t even move beside him, but he sees Fury, sunglasses and button-down like before, standing ini the doorway, looking annoyed.

“Oh, Kazuo,” Sasaki says. “I presume you spoke with Mouse about Midoriya, here?” Fury nods, sharply.

“Yeah,” he says. “Kid’s got a future sight quirk, and he’s used it here.” He glances down at Izuku, the gold of his eye shining even through the glasses. “Anything else you need to know?”

“Mm,” Sasaki hums, and Izuku glances back to see her resting her chin in her hand thoughtfully, her thumb resting on the bottom of her lip. “I wonder whose team he’d do best on?”

“He’s  _ joining _ ?!” Fury asks, voice loud and incredulous. “What the  _ fuck _ .” 

“Manners, Kazuo,” Sasaki says, idly, like it’s a reflex. “I think he’d do best on your team, hmm, Sumire? His quirk is best suited to information gathering, anyway.” Izuku blinks, glancing over his other shoulder to Miura where she’s leaned against the wall beside the door, watching. 

“It’s fine with me,” she says. “I know both of his identities already, so it’d be easy to deliver orders.” Izuku swallows back a sigh of relief.  _ Of all of these three, I’m glad that it’s her. _

“Perfect!” Sasaki says, clapping her hands together and smiling gleefully as Izuku turns to look back at her. “Well,” she relaxes her grin slightly. “There is one condition, of course.” 

Izuku swallows. “What is it?” he asks, voice small. Sasaki gives him an almost fond look.

“You’ll be staying here, at least until everything with the League of Villains is fully resolved,” she says. “You surely know what will happen, but I don’t want any spoilers, okay? And I definitely wouldn’t want you to jeopardize your new position in my family so early on by doing something stupid like trying to save your little friend.” 

Izuku blinks. “O-Okay,” he replies, cursing his stutter.  _ I should have expected this _ , he thinks to himself. Sasaki smiles, her expression soft.

“Of course, you’ll have a place to stay here, and we’ll get you fitted for a suit soon enough,” she says, flipping her hair over her shoulder and leaning forward, eyes gleaming in excitement. “But you have to go through initiation first,  _ Ace _ .” She says his other name like it’s something new, something special. It sends a chill down Izuku’s spine, and he swallows back his nerves.

“Initiation?” he asks, and he hears Sasaki giggle and Miura sigh, at the same time. 

“Of course,” Sasaki says, her eyes flickering up to above and behind Izuku. “Kazuo, would you do the honors?” Her gaze looks back down at Izuku. “You’re probably aware of his quirk already, hmm? Don’t resist!” She laughs, her eyes half lidded and hungry. Izuku swallows. 

“Fuck, fine,” Fury says, voice full of annoyance. “Turn around and look at me, brat,” he orders, and Izuku braces himself for a wave of that awful pain as he turns to look at Fury. Fury’s glasses are still, on, but he pulls them off, shaking his head, and then he looks at Izuku, golden eye bright beside the scarred, milky one. 

Izuku is braced for pain, and maybe that’s why the sensation catches him so off guard. He feels warm, soft and clean and safe, first, and then it all hits him at once, like a weight has been dropped onto his chest. He feels like after a good workout, when his muscles are worn out and his head is buzzing pleasantly, when he’s just taken a hot hower and he’s calm and relaxed, after a good meal, full and happy. He can't think, can’t move or breathe from the force of it, and as Fury stares at him, it’s not that Izuku  _ can’t _ look away. He could, if he wanted to, he’s sure, but the thing is, he doesn’t want it to end. Not when he feels like he’s floating, drifting, every nerve and muscle and bone feeling better than he’s ever felt. 

When Fury turns away, slides his glasses back on, Izuku almost  _ whimpers _ , almost begs him not to stop. He feels the sensation slide away, too quickly, and suddenly he’s all too aware of just how  _ rotten _ he feels. His stomach is like a bowling ball under his ribs, and his lungs hurt, too, in a way he hadn’t even noticed before. His headache is worse, now, and there are fuzzies crawling around the edges of his vision. Izuku blinks, trying to calm his vision, but his heart is beating far too fast in his chest and he feels hot and flushed and strange.  _ Feverish _ , he notes dully, and he wonders how he was working through this, before. 

“See, that wasn’t so bad,” Sasaki coos, and Izuku turns to look at her, blinking. “You’ll get more of that, if you’re good,” she says, and Izuku frowns. 

“I-I--” he cuts himself off, blinking.  _ I can’t speak _ . The words won’t form, even as he opens his mouth to talk, and Sasaki giggles.

“That’s a common side effect the first time, don’t worry,” she says, and if anything, that makes Izuku want to worry  _ more _ . He feels strange, though, echoes of Fury’s quirk popping and shooting through his nerves, making his muscles jerk strangely. Izuku blinks, swallowing, as his vision starts to dull and warp.

“He’s going to pass out,” Manami says from beside him, cheerful. Izuku wants to disagree, wants to say that he won’t, but he feels himself start to list to the side. He feels hands grip his shoulder through the shirt he’s wearing, and then he’s out. 

\--

Izuku comes to slowly, like pulling himself out of a thick syrup. He doesn’t open his eyes, not right away, but he starts to drift less and feel more. His stomach aches, and his head feels like it’s stuffed full of cotton, but there’s a cool, damp cloth on his forehead, and he’s tucked into a soft bed,with a thick blanket draped over him. He hears someone breathing near him, and he slowly opens his eyes to a dimly lit room. He can see a white ceiling above him and the edges of a dark navy-blue wall, and as he tilts his head slightly, he sees Miura, sitting in a chair beside his bed and flipping through a book. Her hair is wet, and she’s wearing a flowery blouse and a pair of jeans--an outfit Izuku has seen her wear at the hardware store, before. She glances over to him, shutting her book as she seems to notice he’s awake. 

“How are you feeling?” Miura asks, setting her book down on her lap. Izuku blinks, swallowing.

“Okay,” he says, his voice raspy and dry. “How long was I...?”

Miura reaches to a table by the bed, grabbing a glass of water with a pink bendy straw sticking out of it. She holds it up to his mouth, and Izuku gratefully sips at the water, sucking it into his mouth and relishing the cool feeling as it slips down his throat. The room he’s in is nothing like the basement rooms--it’s  _ nice _ , with navy walls and white trim, and he’s in a full sized bed, not just a futon on the floor. He can see hardwood floors and three doors attached to the room, along with an empty desk against one wall of the room, facing a window with white curtains. 

“A few days,” Miura says as she pulls the water away, setting it on the table beside him. “You’ve been in and out, but this is the first time you’ve been coherent enough to answer me when I asked how you were feeling.” She watches him, something unreadable in her dark gaze as Izuku processes that.

“A few days?” he asks, starting to pull himself into a sitting position. Miura reacts, lightning fast, standing up from her chair and pushing him back into bed, her book tumbling to the ground. 

“Don’t,” she says, warningly, then sighs. “You kept trying to get up, when you were running a fever. I don’t think it’s a good idea,” she says, pulling her hands from his shoulders. 

“What happened, after Fury used his quirk on me?” Izuku asks. Dread has started to build in his chest, low and hot.  _ What if this ruins the deal? What if Sasaki thinks I’m too weak, now? What if she just kills me? _

“You passed out, which is a pretty normal reaction,” Miura says, leaning down and picking her book up off the ground, dusting off the dark green cover. “And then you didn’t wake up even after about ten hours of sleep, which is not. You were running a fever, so we called in one of our doctors, and they said you probably needed to go to a hospital.” Her gaze slides over to him, and she sighs again, setting the book down on the table beside the bed and sitting in the chair. “Which obviously isn’t an option considering that you’re still viewed as missing. The doctor gave you some fluids and watched over you until your fever broke, and then I’ve been taking turns with Manami to watch you.” 

Izuku swallows. “Sasaki, is she...” He takes a breath. “Am I in danger, because of this?” he raises one arm, gesturing at his body, and even that slight movement sends tingling through his fingers, like they’re asleep. Miura blinks, then sighs, shaking her head.

“No, if anything, it makes her want you more,” she replies. “Once she obtains an... asset, she will go to great lengths to keep it.” She grimaces. “She also likes to collect experiences, for her quirk. Given the chance, I’m sure she’d want to experience your sickness for herself.” Izuku blinks, then nods, glancing down at himself. His arms are resting on top of the blanket, and they look normal save for a bruise on the back of his hand, likely where they’d given him fluids. He’s still wearing long sleeves. 

Miura sighs, and Izuku looks up at her, at the healing bruises on her face. “You know that was a bad decision,” she says, softly, “right?”

“It was the only one I could have made,” Izuku replies, and Miura nods, not looking surprised. 

“I would have... I would have helped you escape,” she says. “I don’t think I can, now. The boss, she’s too invested.” Miura picks at the sleeves of her blouse, her pale fingers tangling in the fabric. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a terrible one.” 

“We got caught,” Izuku replies, and Miura looks up at him sharply. “In the future where you help me. We got caught, and Manami killed me.” Miura stares back at him. 

“You didn’t need saving at all, did you?” she asks, quietly. “You’ve known so much, since you first got here.” Izuku has to hold back a chuckle at that.  _ I wish,  _ he finds himself thinking.

“I’m glad you would help me,” he says, glancing down at the blanket on top of him. “Even if it wouldn’t have helped. I’m glad.” He smiles at her, even though he’s too tired to grin too wide. Miura sighs, blowing air through her mouth and nose and glancing to the side, but Izuku can see the faintest hint of a blush creep up her cheeks. 

“You need to be careful,” she says. “Don’t do anything stupid. The boss, she’d still kill you if you caused more trouble than you’re worth. She sighs, again, and Izuku watches as she relaxes, slightly. “You should rest more, for now. It’s late. Tomorrow, I’ll show you what you need to know.” 

Izuku nods, and he doesn’t protest her suggestion to rest, because even being awake for this short of time is making his head ache again. It’s easy to fall back asleep, even with all of the thoughts bouncing around in his brain. It doesn’t feel real, that he’s made it to this point. That he’s  _ alive _ , that he’s going to stay that way, at least for now. Izuku needs to rest and get better, and then he can start working on his next step.  _ I’m going to save Mouse and Avenging Angel, _ he thinks,  _ and I’m going to make it look like an accident. I’m going to tear the Gekkeiju down from the inside, and I have the perfect quirk to do it. _

\--

The next morning, Izuku wakes up alone. The curtains over the window in the corner leak light into the room, spreading soft fingers of cool sunlight across the floor. Izuku sits up slowly, and he’s grateful that he only feels the faintest hint of dizziness. 

He gets out of bed and explores the room, opening the doors and looking inside. There’s a small closet that’s empty except for a few wire hangers and a dust bunny, a bathroom with clean white and blue tiled floor, a shower, a toilet, and a sink. There’s toilet paper, soap, and towels already there, and Izuku thinks he could probably use a shower. Under the long sleeved shirt and basketball shorts he’s wearing (who changed his clothes?), he can feel dried sweat sticking to his skin in a thin layer of grime. 

The last door surprisingly isn’t locked, and when Izuku pushes it open, it leads to a hallway with white walls and hardwood floor that matches the one in the room he’d slept in. There are a number of doors lining the hallway, labeled with names. Izuku’s isn’t labelled, but the one beside him is, and it says  _ Mr. Clean _ in both English and Katakana. Izuku stares at it.  _ Is this like villain apartments? Do villains  _ get _ apartments? _

Izuku sees Miura up ahead as she turns the corner, looking at him and blinking in surprise. She’s wearing the suit she usually wears as Leadfoot, minus the platform shoes and the metal bands and mask. Instead, she’s wearing a pair of black socks on her feet. 

“Midoriya,” she says, “You’re awake.” She walks toward him quickly, looking somewhat surprised, and she stops about three feet back, looking him up and down.

“I feel much better,” he says, and it’s true. He wouldn’t want to work out or fight right now, but his stomach only hurts the smallest bit and his headache is mild enough to ignore. His fingers and feet aren’t tingling anymore, either, although they do feel a bit sore.

“That’s good to hear,” Miura says, then brings a hand to her chin, tipping her head to the side slightly. “I think we’d better get you cleaned up, then we can get you a uniform and some weapons. The boss is strict about how you dress when you’re representing the organization.” 

“Is that why you all wear suits?” Izuku asks, tipping his head to the side, and Miura nods. 

“It is. Another thing. Don’t refer to her by name unless you’re speaking directly to her,” Miura flicks her ponytail over her shoulder, onto her back. “It helps keep our operations discreet.” Izuku nods. He’d noticed that they never called Sasaki by name, but he hadn’t thought to ask about it.

“Okay,” Izuku replies, stepping back as Miura moves to walk into his room. He steps out of the doorway, back into the room, as she steps inside and flicks the light switch on. Izuku blinks in the bright light, watching as Miura crosses the room to the bathroom and kneels down, opening the cabinet under the sink.

“There’s soap for the shower in here,” she says, glancing over to him as she straightens up. “You go ahead and get clean, and I’ll leave some clothes outside the bathroom door.” 

“Whose clothes have I been wearing?” he asks, and Miura smiles slightly.

“Manami’s and Clean’s,” Miura replies. “They’re the closest to you in size.” Izuku nods as Miura walks out of the bathroom into the bigger part of the room.

“Is this where I’ll stay?” Izuku asks, glancing around. Miura nods.

“It’s useful for permanent members to have a bed to sleep in here,” she says. “You might be asked to spend some of your time here, even after you’re allowed to go back to school.” She glances around the room. “Go, get clean. I’ll be back.” 

Izuku nods, waiting and watching as she leaves the room before he heads into the bathroom. He’s relieved to see that the door locks, even though there’s no doubt in his mind that any of the Gekkeiju could easily get inside, even if he locked himself in. He locks the doorknob anyway, before he turns on the shower and lets the tiny bathroom fill with steam. He watches his reflection in the small mirror above the white-tiled sink, watches as his form blurs and fades with the fog creeping across the mirror’s surface.

\--

Izuku feels uncomfortable after having his measurements taken, but Miura had been quick and clinical about it, moving easily and scrawling the number down on a form. Izuku had asked, jokingly, if she took the measurements of all the new recruits, and Miura had given him what was probably the world’s least impressed look. Now, she’s looking through drawers of brightly colored fabric, sorting through squares of silky material and holding them up to Izuku’s face, to his hair. Izuku is standing in the center of the room, staring at the brightly colored fabrics, at the suits hanging from hangers and the sewing machines on tables, the needles and thread stuck in tomato-shaped pin cushions. 

“How’s this?” Miura asks, holding up a set of three fabrics, one a deep, dark crimson red, one a pitch black, and the third a thick, woven grey with a tint to it that’s nearly blue. “You’d look nice with a waistcoat.”

“Uh,” Izuku says. “I-I don’t really know anything about fashion,” he says, and Miura’s lips quirk up at the edge. 

“I didn’t either, when I was your age,” she says, setting the three swatches of fabric on top of the cabinet she’d been looking through, right beside the paper with his measurements. 

“Who makes all of the suits?” Izuku asks, and Miura glances back up at him, smiling.

“I do,” Miura says, and Izuku sees a flash of something light her eyes in a way he’s only ever seen in the Miura he talked to at the hardware store. “If I use lead scissors and lead needles, I can use my quirk,” she says, waving a hand. As she does, a pair of scissors rises from a table some ways away, glowing a faint violet. Izuku blinks.

“That’s so smart,” he says, feeling himself smile in excitement, his eyes growing wide. “With lead tools, you could be good at basically anything, right? Does it take practice to move the lead, or does it just do whatever you want it to right off the bat? You can’t bend it, right? Otherwise you could just make anything made of lead into scissors for when you needed them, so you wouldn’t have them.” 

Miura smiles, sighing softly. “I can’t bend things, no. And I used to have to practice, but I’ve been using my quirk regularly for so long that it’s easier than even using my hands, most of the time.” Her eyes soften into something fond. “It’s nice, to have all of these resources.” 

Izuku nods. “Is that why you joined the Gekkeiju?” he asks, and Miura blinks, almost flinching back. Izuku feels the smile drop off his face, and he knows he said something wrong, but before he can apologize, Miura shakes her head.

“Manami, Kazuo, and I... the lieutenants, as some of the members call us, are part of the group that founded the Gekkeiju,” she says, staring to the side, like she’s seeing something distant. “We didn’t join, so to speak.” 

“Oh,” Izuku replies. Miura shrugs, sighing under her breath.

“Let’s get you some weapons, Ace,” she says, turning and walking to a door that’s to Izuku’s left. 

“Ace?” he asks, and she nods.

“It’s best to get in the habit of going by your villain name here,” she says as she pushes the door to the next room open. “That way, nobody will accidentally call you Midoriya in the field and give you away.” 

Izuku nods as he follows her into the next room, a brightly lit place that smells of iron and oil. It’s a small room, and the layout reminds him of the hardware store, with metal shelving lining the walls and stacks of boxes. It’s familiar, when Miura leads him down an aisle, stopping to fish around in a box.

“These are pretty much the same as what you were using before,” she says, dropping four sheathed knives on the ground. “And I found a push knife for you.” She turns, passing him the knife. It’s similar to the one he’s used as Ace before, but as he turns it over in his hand, he sees that the blade is shaped like the spades suit in cards, and while the blade itself is shiny silver, the handle is a deep crimson red. It fits perfectly in his hand.

“Wow,” he says. “This is perfect.” He looks up to see Miura smiling, and he could almost believe he was back in that shop in Musutafu, just another kid shopping at just another store. Miura gets this bright, excited look on her face, and she takes her hand from the box.

“I’ll get you some throwing knives soon,” she says. “All of my nice ones are at the store right now. I have something even better for you, though,” she says, casting a happy grin over her shoulder as she leads him deeper into the room, where the shelves cast shadows on the dark floor and walls. 

Miura reaches onto a shelf, the angle of the boxes on it blocking Izuku’s view, but when she pulls her hand back, holding a smooth, shiny handgun, Izuku feels his eyes widen slightly. She holds it out to him, but Izuku doesn’t reach for it, not yet. She tips her head to the side ever so slightly.

“It’s more for later, really,” she says, “but it’s for after you’ve had some gun training. In this line of work, you really need to have a gun. Here, take it. It’s not loaded,” she says, pulling the magazine from the gun and holding it. Izuku is pretty sure this is supposed to prove to him that it’s unloaded, but he doesn’t really know enough about guns for it to be reassuring in the slightest. Miura does a series of quick movements with it, the parts shifting and clicking easily, and then she hands it to him. He takes it, and it’s surprisingly heavy in his hands. 

“D-Do you even need to use guns?” he asks, turning it over in his palms, feeling the cool, slick metal.

“I don’t,” Miura replies. “I can use pieces of lead and move them at fast enough speeds that it’s the same. I can also stop bullets, or at least the lead part of them,” she says. “But guns have their uses. And since I’m essentially bulletproof, I’m the one who teaches newbies how to shoot.” She smiles, holding a hand out, and Izuku hands the gun back to her, strangely glad to not have it any more but at the same time reluctant to give it up. He knows just how powerful his quirk will be once he’s armed with the gun, but at the same time, he’s scared of the damage the weapon could do to other people. 

“Do you know when I’m going to be allowed to leave?” Izuku asks as Miura places the gun back on the shelf before turning to look at him. “I-If I’m here much longer, the people looking for me might find this place.”

Miura blinks. “They won’t,” she says. “But the boss said you could probably go tomorrow or the next day. I’m not sure exactly when, but all of the stuff with the League, well, it’s over.” 

Izuku blinks. “It is?” he says, and then he remembers the television broadcast, remembers that he’d slept for a few days this time. “Oh, right. It’s been... three days?” 

Miura raises an eyebrow. “It’s been six days since you arrived here, Ace,” she says, sighing softly through her nose. “You don’t have the best sense of time, do you?”

“No,” Izuku replies faintly, “I don’t.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: guns, medical stuff mentioned
> 
> [discord!](https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt)
> 
> i hope you all enjoyed!!!! the first superarc is pretty much over--we have some intermission/joining type stuff that still has to happen (like izuku leaving the gekkeiju base lol) but :3c im very excited dkfghdfjk 
> 
> thank you as always for the support!!!! for those of you who have been missing the canon characters, they should be back Soon


	47. intermission, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku strikes a deal with sasaki and joins the gekkeiju as ace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GAMERS welcome to the funky little space between superarc 1 and superarc 2 it's not just random filler/intermission but i didn't know what else to call da arc

Sitting in the back seat of a car in his tattered clothing from the summer training camp, arm guards and knives and razor teeth and everything, is a surreal experience. The city that whips by the window is a blur, and the dark tint to the glass makes Izuku wonder if anyone can even see him at all. It’s early evening, and Izuku can hear the sounds of crickets and cicadas, the whistle of the warm summer wind, even over the quiet purr of the car’s engine. Izuku stares out the window, trying to focus on the sights and sounds of the outside.

“Hey, kid,” Mr. Clean says from the driver’s seat of the car. “Do you have the money?” he asks, and Izuku looks up just in time to meet his gaze in the rearview mirror.

Izuku nods, his hand slipping into the pocket of his filthy, bloody cargo shorts and touching the handful of ten yen coins resting there. “I do,” he says, quietly. Clean hums, turning his gaze back to the road. 

“You know the drill?” he asks, and Izuku nods again.

“Leadfoot told me,” Izuku replies, and Clean nods. 

“Good, good,” he says, tapping his hands against the steering wheel. “We’re almost here.” He glances back. “Hey, what’d you do to get in under Leadfoot directly? It took me like three years to get in this position.”

Izuku shrugs, turning to look back out the window. “It was kind of a special situation,” he replies. He hears the turn signal click on, and the car turns a corner, pulling over next to the curb. They’ve stopped next to a little park with a playground, all brightly colored plastic, and just past the curb, a green payphone stands, waiting. 

“Here we go,” Clean says. “Wait until I’ve been gone for a few minutes to call, ‘kay?” 

Izuku nods, opening the car door and slipping out. “I know. Thanks for the ride,” he replies, shutting the door behind him before Clean can answer. Izuku steps out onto the sidewalk, hearing the car leave behind him, feeling the rush of displaced air brush his back as it does. 

It’s damp and humid outside, like it’d rained since he left, and it makes it so that the leaves of the trees are oversaturated, intensely green. The bark of the trees is dark, wet, and it makes the neon-brights of the playground and the payphone stand out. Izuku takes a few steps forward, hating the way the dried blood on his shirt cracks and breaks with the movement. He smells like salt and sweat and iron, like something that’s begun to rot, and he hates it. 

Izuku stops in front of the payphone, stares at the bright green paint coating it. It’s shiny, but near the bottom of the box that takes money and gives Izuku a place to dial in a number, it’s cracked and chipping, dark orange rust leaking through. There’s a thin layer of condensation over the whole thing, and where the water runs and drips through the cracks, it’s stained dark and warm, like blood. Izuku watches the water drip onto the damp sidewalk, into a patch of orange-brown already on the concrete below. He can’t smell anything over the stench of his own clothing, but he pretends he’s just smelling the rusty water and not the blood of the man he’d killed.

Izuku presses a button on the payphone, and a little screen lights up, scrolling with  _ please pay now! _ in Japanese and then English and Mandarin. Izuku stares at the buttons, the discolored plastic buttons. They were probably once white, but now they’re more of a cream color, and as Izuku slides three 10 yen coins into the coin slot, he finds himself seeing that cream colored room. He shakes the vision away, and he begins to type the number into the keypad. 

He’d seen it on the television while he waited for Sasaki to release him, scrolling across the news over and over again.  _ If you have any leads to the whereabouts of Izuku Midoriya, please call this number. _ Izuku had repeated it to himself so many times that he thinks he knows it better than his own number, at this point. He’d watched broadcasts where it had been on the screen, under a reporter’s face, broadcasts where it’d been read aloud by a police officer, broadcasts where Aizawa had looked at the screen and described Izuku, shown pictures of him, broadcasts where his mom had looked into a camera and pleaded for Izuku’s captors to release him. Watching them had made Izuku feel sick, but they’d also patched something up in his heart, some hole he hadn’t realized had been carved there when Fury had told him  _ nobody’s looking for you _ , told him that he didn’t matter. Izuku hates himself for believing him. 

Izuku presses the final button, lifts the phone and holds it to his ear. It only rings once--a soft, electronic buzzing, and then he hears a familiar voice say,

“Hello, this is the hotline for tips regarding Izuku Midoriya.” Izuku recognizes Aizawa’s voice immediately, and when he hears his teacher say his name in that tone of voice, that exhausted, almost desperate tone of voice, something in Izuku breaks. He’s standing at the phone, expression blank and mind empty one moment, and the next, he’s pressing the palm of his hand into his cheek and sobbing, gasping and trying to catch his breath as hot tears roll over his cheeks. 

“S-Sensei,” he whispers, voice broken and heavy, and he hears a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, along with a clattering like someone's stood up suddenly. 

“Midoriya?!” Aizawa asks, voice tinted with disbelief and hope. “Midoriya, is that you? Where are you?”

“I-It’s me,” Izuku gasps out. “I-I’m at the park at Nakamura Street.” He hiccups, his voice heavy with tears. “Sensei, I-I’m--I’m so sorry,” he whispers into the receiver, his voice cracking. 

“Don’t apologize,” Aizawa says, voice sharp. “The park on Nakamura and Fifth,” Aizawa says, his voice distant like he’d turned away from the receiver. “Midoriya,” he says, this time close and clear again. “Help is on the way. I’m on my way. Are you injured?” There’s rustling in the background, like Aizawa is really running to get Izuku, just like that. Izuku goes to bite at his lip, stopping when he remembers the blades in his mouth.

“I-I--” he starts, trying to say he’s  _ fine _ , that he doesn’t even know why he’s crying, but he can’t get the words out. He slides to the ground, sitting with his back pressed to the pole that holds up the payphone, his knees drawn up to his chest, and he clutches the phone to his face like he’s drowning and it’s the only thing keeping him above water. He can hear himself crying, whimpering pathetically, and he hates it, but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t calm his breathing, can’t get himself to calm down.

“Shh,” Aizawa shushes, gently. “You’re okay, Midoriya. Help is on the way. You’re okay.” His voice is calm, soothing, but Izuku can hear the undertone of panic, of  _ urgency _ in his voice. Izuku clings to it, thinks about that, that  _ help is on the way _ , and it makes him sob harder, even as it loosens something coiled tight in his chest. 

Izuku hears a beeping from the phone, signalling he’s almost out of time, and he grips the phone tightly. He has more money, has more coins, but he doesn’t think he has it in him to peel himself off of the ground, to uncurl himself and slide more money into the slot. The hand that Izuku doesn’t have holding the phone is shaking violently, and Izuku can’t even steady it enough to run a hand through his hair. 

“P-Payphone,” he gasps out. “Out of time.” He swallows around the words, shuts his eyes and tips his head back to rest his skull against the cool metal of the pole he’s leaned against. 

“I’m almost there,” Aizawa says, voice quick and firm. “If you run out of time, that’s okay. Just stay right where you are, okay? I’m almost there.” Izuku hums, quietly, his throat wet and full. 

“Mhmm.” He tightens his grip on the phone, feeling the plastic shift with the force, but he doesn’t tighten his grip. He’s so, so glad that they’d taken the extra time to drop him off in Musutafu, so close to UA. He’d thought before that he’d be fine, that the few extra minutes from calling and having help arrive wouldn’t matter, but it’s like he’s lost the ability to hold himself together.  _ It’s stupid _ , he thinks,  _ I was fine when I was actually in danger, but I freak out now? _

He hears the line click off, and Izuku lets go of the phone, letting it swing beside him. He wraps his hands around each other, squeezing one with the other, and it aches between his bones as he presses them together, but it’s something, and it’s grounding. A drop of rust-tinted water drips from the payphone box above him, landing on his forehead and running down to where it catches in his eyebrow, and Izuku flinches, blinking and shaking. He swallows, trying to get rid of some of the wet ache in his throat, but the motion turns into a shaky sob, and Izuku just buries his face in his knees and tries to breathe. 

Izuku hears footsteps, quick and rapid on the concrete, and he looks up to see Aizawa, clad in his hero costume complete with the capture scarf that flutters as he runs, sprinting toward Izuku with a determined set to his face. His eyes widen as he catches sight of Izuku, and Izuku realizes how much of a mess he must look, crying his eyes out in the same bloody clothing from the camp, the healing bruise on the side of his face from where Miura had knocked him out when he and Kacchan were initially separated. Aizawa runs toward him, and the second he’s standing there, just in front of Izuku and out of breath, eyes wide and wild, Izuku is crying anew, fresh tears pouring down his face. 

“Midoriya, fuck, kid,” Aizawa says, franctically, crouching down, his eyes moving over Izuku quickly. “Are you injured?” he asks, his hands reaching to grab at Izuku’s head and pat his skull, like he’s checking for bumps. Izuku shakes his head, biting at his lip, wincing with his razor teeth make a small cut in the skin there. Aizawa’s lips drop into a deeper grimace, and then he’s pulling Izuku into a tight hug, dragging him out of his curled up position. 

“You’re okay,” Aizawa says, and Izuku thinks he must be reassuring himself at least as much as he’s trying to reassure Izuku. “Fuck, you’re alive. You’re okay.” Izuku melts into his grasp, letting Aizawa pull him to his chest, his teacher’s warm hands tugging him up, holding him close. Izuku wraps his own arms around to Aizawa’s back, his hands gripping in the bundles of the capture weapon there, and he hides his face in Aizawa’s neck and shoulder, pressing himself into his teacher. He smells like clean laundry and cloves, and the smell is so  _ normal _ , so calming and so different from the stench of blood that had filled Izuku’s nose for the entire car ride here that it tugs at something in Izuku’s chest and he’s crying with renewed vigor. Aizawa’s hands rub slow, gentle circles into his back, and he shushes Izuku gently, rocking him back and forth just the slightest bit. 

“You’re okay,” he says, again, and Izuku can hear sirens in the distance, now. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” 

\--

The ride to the hospital is a blur. Izuku knows he doesn’t say anything, even when the paramedics ask him questions and load him into the ambulance, sitting upright on the bed since he’s really not hurt at all. Aizawa stays with him the entire time, his large hand wrapped around one of Izuku’s. The expression on his face seems to grow more and more grim the longer Izuku goes without saying anything, but at least Izuku isn’t crying any more. The paramedics say something to Aizawa about the bruise on the back of Izuku’s right hand, the one from the IV, and Aizawa’s face takes on a dark look. Izuku can’t process the words, though, and even when Aizawa crouches down in front of him, asks him something, all Izuku can do is stare, blankly. 

It feels like everything melts together, and Izuku is rushed into the hospital. He doesn’t process what happens, doesn’t remember it, but he knows that after the doctors look him over, after he’s been given a hospital gown and a thick, heavy blanket wrapped over it, after he’s been cleaned up and tucked into a bed and there’s blood running into his arm through a needle in the crook of his elbow, his mom is there, and she’s crying.

She clutches at his hand, and Aizawa, who’s been with him the whole time, through every moment of it, steps back, lets Inko hold Izuku’s hand gently, so carefully, like he’s glass. She doesn’t ask him anything, doesn’t say anything except his name, and when she raises her hand to the side of Izuku’s face, her skin is warm and soft. Izuku leans into the contact, leans into the pressure, and he feels fresh tears start to fall down his cheeks. It’s like the spell that had come over him, that dense, impenetrable fog that had sealed his lips shut and made every word people said to him into gibberish, is broken by his mother’s hand. 

“Oh, baby,” she says, soft and scared. “What did they do to you?” She’s asking herself, not him, but Izuku reaches up the arm that doesn’t have an IV going into it and rests his hand on his mother’s wrist.

“I’m okay, mom,” he says, voice rough and tired. He sees Aizawa’s eyes widen just a touch from where he’s leaning on the wall, watching the two of them. Inko sobs, heavy and strong, but a small, watery smile is on her lips.

“I’m so glad, Izuku. I’m so glad you’re here. I’m so glad,” she sobs, leaning forward so that she and Izuku are almost embracing. Izuku breathes in his mother’s scent, lets it wash over him and soothe him as his eyes slide shut. Izuku falls asleep, warm in his mother’s arms. 

\--

After his twenty four hours of observation, Izuku is released from the hospital. He doesn’t remember much of the time he’d been admitted, to be honest, but now that he’s changed into a soft long sleeved black shirt and a pair of cargo shorts his mom had brought him from home, he feels a little more himself. He’s sitting on the bed in his hospital room, just waiting for the doctor to come and properly discharge him. They’d told him he’d have to get wheeled out of the hospital, that it was policy, or something, and Izuku is quietly plotting how to get out of it. His legs work  _ fine _ . 

Izuku’s mom is downstairs, talking with Aizawa about when Izuku would get questioned by the police. Aizawa had practically lived in his hospital room, along with Izuku’s mom, and he’s heard the two of them argue about the police issue more than once already. Izuku’s mom wants them to wait as long as possible, and Aizawa wants to get it over with. They’d tried to ask Izuku what he wanted, but he’d just shrugged, so they kept arguing. Izuku thinks that if he was a better person, he would just pick one so they’d stop saying things like  _ he’s just been through hell and you want to use him for information _ and  _ I don’t want him to have to relive this over and over again _ . Izuku doesn’t get it. He’s fine. 

Izuku hears the door to his room creak open, and he glances up from where he’d been staring down at his lap, expecting to see Aizawa and Inko looking at him apologetically, but instead, he sees Uraraka, peeking her head through the door. When she meets his eyes, she perks up and steps inside the room, pushing the door open further, revealing all of the people behind her. Izuku blinks, his eyes widening, as he sees Iida, Todoroki, Kirishima, Tsuyu, Kaminari, Yaoyorozu, and Monoma standing in the hallway, all looking in at him with expressions that go through a mix of happy and concerned. 

“H-Hey guys,” he says, sitting up straight. He gives them a shaky smile, which Uraraka returns with a beaming grin as she steps into the small hospital room. The others follow behind, with Kirishima and Kaminari sporting matching grins. Iida and Yaoyorozu share a glance, and Izuku can see Todoroki eyeing Monoma suspiciously. Izuku wonders what that’s all about.

“Hey, Deku!” Uraraka chirps, stepping forward so she’s standing about three feet from him. She tips her head to the side. “We wanted to come and visit you while you were in the hospital, but I guess you’re already out, huh?” 

Izuku nods. “Y-Yeah, I didn’t have any injuries, so...” he trails off, swallowing heavily. “Are you all okay? I saw that some of you went to Kamino.” 

Yaoyorozu nods sharply, but it’s Todoroki who answers. “We’re all okay,” he says. “Bakugou is, too. Jirou and Hagakure are still recovering from the gas, but they’ll be okay. You were the only one people didn’t know about.” His face and voice are even, like he’s giving a report, but then he presses his lips into a thin line. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he says, quietly, and all Izuku can do is blink and nod, startled.

“Yeah, man,” Kirishima says, giving Izuku a concerned smile. “We were starting to think you were gone for good, you know?” Next to him, Kaminari bites at his lip. 

“C’mon, guys,” Kaminari says, elbowing Kirishima playfully in the ribs. “I’m sure he’s heard lotsa stuff about that already. We should cheer him up!” Kaminari grins. “Have you heard what they’re gonna do at UA?”

“No?” Izuku says, blinking. Kaminari nods, excited.

“They’re building dorms for us! It’s gonna be like a big epic party but like, all the time,” he says, giving Izuku a thumbs up and a wink. “I’m really excited!” 

Izuku blinks. “R-Really?” he asks. “Huh. I didn’t think about that,” he says, chewing on his bottom lip, avoiding the scab he has on one part of the soft flesh from biting it with his razor teeth still on. 

“Oh!” Uraraka blinks, her mouth opening slightly. “That reminds me! I bet nobody told you that sensei expelled Mineta,” she says, a smile creeping up on her lips. 

“That’s right, ribbit,” Tsuyu says, pressing a finger to her chin. “When Ochako came to me with her footage, we went to talk to Nezu-sensei, since Aizawa-sensei was busy looking for you. He was very quick to take action.” She smiles slightly, and Izuku returns the expression. 

“T-That’s great!” he says, then stops. “W-Well, the part where he took it seriously, n-not the part that there was a problem in the first place!” he corrects, voice stuttering, and Uraraka giggles.

“We know what you mean, silly!” she says, giving him a fond smile. “Can I hug you?” she asks, her smile slipping for just a second. “I-I know we just changed the subject, but we were really worried.” 

Izuku blinks, then nods, and Uraraka’s pulling him forward into a gentle embrace, her arms slipping under his own and wrapping around his back. As Izuku hugs her back, he hears an excited whoop from Kirishima.

“Group hug!” he says, excitedly, then “If that’s okay with Midoriya, that is.” 

“I-It’s okay!” Izuku replies, and he feels strong, muscular arms hug his left side as Kirishima joins in. Tsuyu and Kaminari join in next, then Iida, and Izuku hears a nervous laugh from Yaoyorozu where she stands between Todoroki and Monoma at the back of the room.

“I, uh, I’m not sure there’s enough room for the rest of us to join in,” she says, a light chuckle in her voice, and Todoroki nods, a strange expression on his face. Beside them, Monoma snorts, rolling his eyes.

“Like I’d want to hug a bunch of 1-A trash anyway,” he says, huffing and crossing his arms over his chest. Todoroki bristles, turning to fix him with an icy glare.

“Why are you here, exactly?” he asks, and Izuku’s about to step in, but Monoma shrugs, his ice blue eyes shifting to meet Izuku’s gaze.

“He may be 1-A garbage, but he still saved me,” he says, calm and confident, but Izuku knows those words mean much more than Monoma lets on. Izuku swallows, takes a deep breath, and smiles. He lets the presence of his friends and classmates comfort him.

After what feels like just a heartbeat but must really be a few minutes, he hears the sound of someone rapping their knuckles on the frame of his door, and Izuku looks up to see his doctor, a middle-aged woman with salt and pepper black hair in a high bun and smile lines around her mouth, smiling at him from the doorway.

“It’s time, Mr. Midoriya,” she says. “The nurse is on his way with the wheelchair, but your visitors will need to leave for now.” She glances over the group as they release Izuku from the hug. “It’s kind of funny, but I thought the rule was only three visitors at a time. How strange that it’s changed.” Her lips are quirked up in an amused smile, and Izuku watches as looks of shame creep over Iida and Yaoyorozu’s faces, while Uraraka, Kirishima, and Kaminari just turn to beam at the doctor. Izuku feels cold without his friends holding him, but just as he starts to feel something unhappy and upset rise in his stomach at the thought of them leaving, Todoroki is meeting his gaze.

“We’ll see you again soon,” he says, a soft smile on his lips. “And we’ll text you.” As he says it, Kaminari and Uraraka nod in agreement, and Kaminari gives him a bright thumbs up that Yaoyorozu looks at strangely before copying. Izuku beams up at them, a bright smile that hurts the edges of his cheeks.

“Thanks, guys,” he says. “It was really great to see you all. I’m sorry I worried you.” He watches looks of fondness flash over their faces.

“We’re just glad you’re okay,” Yaoyorozu says, and then they start to filter out of the room, one by one. Izuku waits until only Todoroki, Monoma, and Tsuyu are still in the room, and then he speaks.

“Monoma?” he asks, and both Todoroki and Monoma turn to look at him. “Could I talk to you for a minute?” Izuku glances up to the doctor. “It should only take a minute, I promise. We’ll be done by the time the nurse gets here.”

The doctor arches a brow at him, but the smile doesn’t leave her face. “I’ll give you two a bit of privacy, then,” she says, stepping away from the doorway. Monoma slides his hands into the pockets of his skinny jeans and tilts his head slightly at Izuku.

“I can stick around for a minute,” he says, expression neutral, but Izuku knows he sees the wary look Todoroki gives him as Tsuyu ushers him out of the room, her thoughtful gaze catching on Izuku’s face.  _ I’m going to have to explain myself later _ .

“What did you need?” Monoma asks, facing Izuku where Izuku is still sitting on the hospital bed, his legs dangling over the edge. Izuku swallows.

“Did you tell anyone?” he asks, swinging his legs back and forth. He wants to look down at the floor, but he can’t tear his eyes away from Monoma’s face. Monoma’s eyes narrow.

“No, I didn’t,” he says. “But I should have.” He stares Izuku down, something unreadable in his expression.

“Why didn’t you, then?” Izuku asks. “I mean, don’t get me wrong! I’m glad you didn’t. But... why?” He chews on his bottom lip, watching as Monoma’s gaze shifts to the side, his lips twitching into something of a grimace.

“I... Have you thought at all about how they found the summer camp, Midoriya?” Monoma shifts his weight from one foot to another. “Only Nezu, Vlad-sensei, and Eraserhead were supposed to know about the location at UA, and the Wild Wild Pussycats were the only ones who knew on the outside.” He sighs, his eyes sliding shut for just a moment. “I trust Vlad-sensei. And I assume you feel the same about Aizawa.” He opens his eyes, a hint of pain on his face. “But I thought about what you said. About how valuable your quirk would be in the wrong hands. Clearly, there’s an information leak somewhere. I couldn’t take that risk.” He’s scowling as he looks at Izuku, and Izuku nods, swallowing and looking down at the ground. 

“R-Right,” he says, “I--Thank you.” He clears his throat, meets Monoma’s eyes again. “Thank you,” he says again. “You went through a lot, because of me. I’m sorry, but I’m thankful, too.” Izuku swallows, watches Monoma’s blue eyes widen ever so slightly. “It was nice to not die alone, for once.” Izuku smiles, slightly. Monoma stares back at him, his brows furrowing slightly and his lips parted, before he huffs out a breath of air and looks to the side. 

“Whatever,” he mutters. “I’m not going to make a habit of it, just so you know.” Izuku smiles wider as he sees the hint of red on Monoma’s cheeks.

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” he replies, chuckling. Monoma meets his gaze again, before turning on his heels and walking out of the room, but Izuku knows he’ll see him again, soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: hospitals
> 
> [discord!](https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt)
> 
> I HOPE U ENJOYED!!!! reading all the speculation and comments n stuff makes me SO HAPPY i love yall tysm for all the support!


	48. intermission, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku returns to society after his captivity. he recovers in the hospital, and his friends visit him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GAMERS im snowed in so no class and also im bored out of my mind so writing it isssss

It feels strange, sitting in his own living room with Detective Tsukauchi and Aizawa sitting across from him in two of their dining room chairs, with his mom sitting beside him on the couch, but Izuku supposes it makes sense. His mom is anxiously clutching at her mug of tea, even with Izuku right beside her at home. He can’t imagine her ever agreeing to him being questioned at the police station, or even at the school. 

“Midoriya,” Tsukauchi says, and both Izuku and his mom look up at the same time. Tsukauchi blinks, then rubs the back of his head, embarrassed. 

“Y-You can call me Izuku, for right now,” Izuku says, picking at his cuticles as he stares down at the coffee table. “It’ll just make things easier.”

His mom nods beside him. “And you can call me Inko, i-it’s really not a big deal!” She leans forward, setting her mug on the coffee table between them. It’s kind of an awkward set-up, what with the chairs setting Aizawa and Tsukauchi a little higher up that Izuku and his mom are, but it’s more comfortable than Izuku had been afraid it would be. 

“Of course,” Tsuakuchi says, shifting his legs slightly where they’re crossed over one another. “So then, Izuku. Are you about ready to get started?” He has his notebook open on his lap, pen at the ready. Izuku nods, hesitantly.

“You can take a break whenever you need to,” Tsukauchi says, “and this isn’t an interrogation. You’re welcome to not answer any questions that you don’t want to answer.” He gives Izuku a gentle smile. “We want information, of course, but your safety comes first. Do you understand?” 

Izuku blinks, then nods. “Y-Yeah,” he says, even though he really doesn’t get it. The information has to be the top priority, doesn’t it? Izuku sees Tsukauchi’s lips twitch. 

“Izuku,” he says, softly. “I mean it,” he says, and Izuku suddenly remembers his quirk, “we don’t want to do anything that hurts you.” His eyes are so gentle they’re almost pained, and Izuku looks away, only to see an expression of dark concern on Aizawa’s face. He looks down at the table instead.

“Kid,” Aizawa says, his voice rough. “We can do this later if you want.” Izuku glances up at him, at his teacher who’s wearing a button down and slacks, who’s here without his capture weapon for Izuku.  _ I’ve already put him out enough as it is _ , Izuku thinks. He thinks about the payphone, about the hospital, about Aizawa being there, for every moment of it.  _ I don’t want to cause him any more trouble _ , he thinks, even though something in his chest warms at the fact that Aizawa had been willing to do that for him in the first place.

“I-I’m okay,” Izuku says, meeting Aizawa’s eyes, then Tsukauchi’s. “I can do this.” And he can. If Izuku can face villains who have killed him multiple times already, who have  _ tortured _ him, he can answer a few questions that are meant to help him in the first place.  _ I have to be careful, though. I can’t leak my involvement with the Gekkeiju, not if I want a chance to get Mouse and Avenging Angel out of there safely. _

“Okay,” Tsukauchi says, nodding. He presses his pen to the paper. “First question, then. Can you tell me about what happened at the summer training camp?” Izuku nods.  _ That one’s easy _ .

“Um, Monoma and I went to find Kouta,” he says, fidgeting with his hands. “He was at this little base he has, and we were worried about him, so we went to help him.” Izuku swallows. “But, uh, that villain--Muscular--was there, and he--” Izuku bites his lip and looks at the coffee table. “He told us he wanted to kill me and capture Monoma, and he would have killed me and Kouta for sure. So, Monoma erased his quirk, and I, uh...” Izuku blinks. “I--” He shakes his head. “I killed him,” Izuku says, and it’s small and tired. 

“Did you intend to kill him?” Tsukauchi asks, and Izuku hears his mom make an affronted noise next to him, but Izuku answers before she can protest.

“N-No!” he sputters, shaking his head. “I-I just didn’t want to hold back and risk him hurting Kouta or Monoma, and I use knives, and his throat was right there, and--” Izuku stops, shakes his head. “I didn’t mean to kill him.”

“Then it’s not your fault,” Tsukauchi says, and when Izuku glances up to him, he sees a tired, worried smile on his face. “It’s self defense, in every possible way. You did nothing wrong.” Beside him, Aizawa nods. 

“In that situation, even a pro likely would have had to kill Muscular in order to subdue him,” Aizawa says. “With a quirk like his and the record he had, using non-lethal force would be nigh impossible unless you had a quirk specifically suited to that, like Midnight’s.” Aizawa meets Izuku’s gaze with tired, serious eyes. “Tsukauchi’s right. You did nothing wrong.” 

Izuku nods, shaky, hesitantly. He feels a warm hand rest on his knee, and he looks over to see his mom give him a quick, teary smile.

“O-Okay,” Izuku says. “Okay.” 

Tsukauchi nods, writing in his notebook. “What happened after your fight with Muscular?” he asks, but beside him, Aizawa raises a hand to stop him.

“Actually, I have a question,” he says, looking at Izuku. “Why did you and Monoma leave when you did? There hadn’t been any sign of danger at that point.”

Izuku blinks. “Oh, um.” He fidgets with his hands in his lap. “We knew Kouta was out there,” he says, shrugging. “And it was getting kind of late.” Neither of those statements are  _ lies _ , but he can tell from the way Aizawa’s eyes narrow ever-so-slightly that his teacher still has questions. 

Tsukauchi casts a glance at Aizawa. “It was very lucky you two left when you did,” Tsukauchi says, something off in his expression. “So, after the fight?” He tilts his notebook, showing something to Aizawa, and Izuku watches his teacher’s bloodshot eyes dip down to look at the page, then up to Tsukauchi’s face again. Izuku swallows nervously.

“We... we took Kouta to Aizawa-sensei, and then we went to talk to Mandalay and tell her that the villains were targeting Kacchan, and then...” Izuku blinks. “I, uh, don’t remember, exactly? We fought with Leadfoot a little at one point, and then we were walking with Todoroki and Kacchan, and um,” Izuku swallows, his throat feeling thick and heavy as he glances down at his lap. “The villain with a mask, Compress, I think, turned Kacchan into a marble, and he was reaching for Monoma, so I--I pushed Monoma out of the way,” Izuku says, twisting his fingers together. “I pushed him out of the way, and the villain took me instead.” Izuku doesn’t look up from his lap, even when he hears Aizawa grunt.

“So you knew that you and Monoma were targets, but you only reported to Mandalay about Bakugou?” he asks, voice low. “Why?” 

Izuku shrugs. “I--We thought we could handle it,” he says. “Monoma was the one to tell her, but I--I didn’t want her to stop us from going to help, so I didn’t say anything, either.” Izuku’s shorts are very fascinating, really. He can see the stitching. It’s... there. Izuku keeps his gaze fixed on his lap, not wanting to see the expressions of anyone in the room. 

“You thought you could handle it,” Aizawa says, voice low and dark. “So you didn’t tell any of the  _ pro heroes _ that you were a target to be  _ killed _ , and instead you put yourself in a position to be captured in the place of Monoma.” He sighs, and Izuku imagines that he’s shaking his head, or maybe running a hand through his hair. Izuku isn’t going to look up to confirm.

“I-It wasn’t like that,” Izuku says, and he hears Aizawa sigh. 

“It wasn’t like you were trying to get yourself killed?” Aizawa quips. “What was it like, then?”

“Aizawa,” Tsukauchi says, a soft warning in his voice. “Let’s stay focused.” 

“Right,” Aizawa says, voice gruff. Izuku risks glancing up, but he regrets it when he sees Aizawa watching him. Izuku looks back down at his lap, at his hands where they’re twisted up together, fingers interlocking. 

“What happened after the villain captured you?” Tsukauchi asks. Izuku picks at some dry skin by his cuticles.

“Me and Kacchan were in a room with a bunch of villains,” Izuku says. “Um, the League and the Gekkeiju both. A-And they knocked Kacchan out and argued about--about who should get to keep me.” He tugs at a tiny piece of skin, pulls it off. Blood beads up in the tiny would, smaller than the head of a pin. Izuku stares at it, at the bright, liquid red.

“Can you remember who was there, any names?” Tsukauchi asks. Izuku swallows. He feels strange. Distant.

“Magne, Dabi, Compress, Shigaraki, Fangirl, Leadfoot, Toga, Kurogiri, an injured woman who I think was in the Gekkeiju, and a lizard looking guy from the League.” Izuku bites at his lower lip. “I don’t remember if there were any others.” It feels so long ago, when he was in that room, surrounded by people fighting over who got to keep him. “Leadfoot knocked me out after they decided that the Gekkeiju were keeping me. Um, they had wanted Monoma, o-originally. And the League wanted Kacchan.” Izuku risks a glance upward, just in time to see Tsukauchi nod.

“You were on the League’s kill list,” he says, confirming what Izuku thinks he remembers. “We were able to obtain their hit list from the villains we captured at the training camp. It appears you were being targeted for both your role in the Hosu incident and how you stood up to Shigaraki at USJ.” Tsukauchi makes a mark on his notebook page. “What happened after that?”

Izuku swallows. “I woke up,” he says, and suddenly his mouth is dry, too dry to speak. He remembers that first reset, waking up in the cream-colored room with the cracked, aged linoleum. He can remember the door opening, remember Fury standing there, eyes shut, red hair bright even in the cheap, dim lighting. He remembers Fury’s destroyed, scarred right eye, remembers the brilliant gold of his left one. He remembers the  _ hell _ of Heaven and Hell, remembers the pain that settled into his bones like a fire taking over a pile of dry tinder. Izuku clenches his hands in his lap, tries to breathe, but it stutters in his throat, and he makes a little gasping sound instead.

“Izuku?” his mom asks, her hand gently squeezing his knee. “Baby, what’s wrong?” Izuku swallows, shakes his head.

“Midor--Izuku,” Aizawa says, voice low and rough. “Take a deep breath.” Izuku glances up at his teacher, at his dark eyes, framed by curly hair. His teacher takes a breath in, slow and controlled and visible, and Izuku copies him, breathing in slowly. He knows this technique, knows to breathe big and obvious like that if he has to calm a civilian, and shame burns in his chest as he copies his teacher’s breathing, his chest moving slow and even. 

“Let’s take a break,” Tsukauchi says, but Izuku shakes his head.

“N-No, I want to get it over with,” he says, looking up to face Tsukauchi. Tsukauchi meets his gaze, eyes serious, and he nods, the movement short and neat. 

“Okay,” he says. “You woke up,” he starts, his fingers on his pen. “Do you know where you were?” Izuku swallows. He doesn’t let himself imagine any of the places, doesn’t let the images of any of the rooms form in his mind.

“I-I think it was the Gekkeiju base,” he says, squeezing his fingers together, interlocked. “Or one of them, anyway. It was a seven story building,” he says, and then he’s thinking about the elevator rides up to that top floor, to the office where Sasaki used her quirk to give him heatstroke, where she pointed a gun to Mouse’s head. Izuku swallows, makes himself breathe even as bright green eyes flash in the edges of his vision. 

“Thank you, Izuku,” Tsukacuhi says as he writes in his notebook, pen making small scratching noises as it moves across the page. “This kind of information is really useful. I know this is hard, but you’re helping a lot of people by doing this.” Izuku shifts his hands, fisting them in the fabric of his shorts.  _ Not as many as I’m going to hurt as a villain,  _ he thinks. 

“Can you tell me anything about what happened while you were there?” Tsukauchi asks, glancing up from his notebook. Izuku swallows, then shakes his head.

“I-I shouldn’t,” he says, voice cracking. He squeezes his hands tight, feels the rough fabric of his shorts digging into his skin, painlessly. “I-I can’t,” he says, instead, and Tsukauchi nods.

“Okay. That’s okay. I’m going to ask you a couple of questions about your time there, but don’t feel pressured to answer, okay?” Tsukauchi waits, and Izuku nods. “Good. Okay, first. Did they hurt you while you were there?” 

Izuku shakes his head. “No,” he says, and Tsukauchi stares at him. Izuku knows they both know it’s a lie. “They didn’t hurt me. They kept me there until Kamino was over, and then they let me go.” Izuku’s voice is shaky, uneven, and even to him, it sounds like he’s repeating something that he’s been told to say. It’s what Miura instructed him to say, what they practiced together over and over again.  _ They didn’t hurt me. They kept me there until Kamino was over. They let me go. I didn’t meet anyone I didn’t already know. I didn’t hear anything. _ Miura had been so gentle about it, so nice, but Izuku had understood the threat hidden in the words.  _ If I say something else, somebody will suffer for it. Either it’ll be me, or it’ll be Mouse, or it’ll be Miura. I can’t have someone else get hurt because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut _ . Izuku is good at keeping secrets, anyway. 

“Izuku,” Tsukauchi says, voice gentle. “You don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to, but we can’t help you if you’re not honest with us. You don’t have to tell me what happened, okay? We’re on your side here.” He gives Izuku a sad smile. “I’ll ask you again. Did they hurt you?”

“They didn’t hurt me,” Izuku says, and he feels distant, strange. Like his head is full of a thick cloud, all of a sudden. “They didn’t hurt me. They kept me there until Kamino was over. They let me go.” He takes a shaky breath, blinks a few times. “I didn’t meet anyone I didn’t already know. I didn’t hear anything.” He’s staring in Tsukauchi’s direction, but his vision won’t focus. He can’t make it focus, not even as he blinks, hard. 

“Izuku,” Aizawa says, and Izuku tries to look at him, but he can’t even move his eyes. He feels like he’s frozen in ice, tucked away at the bottom of a frozen cold ocean. Izuku is the boy in the marble, encased in blue glass, far away. 

Izuku remembers sitting in his room in the Gekkeiju tower, on that navy blue bed in the room that they’d said was his. He remembers waiting for the order that he could leave, that he could go home, remembers watching the news with Manami, remembers avoiding Fury’s gaze even with his dark sunglasses. Izuku remembers a thick haze over him, when he’d been sick and recovering in bed, and he thinks, vaguely, that he remembers being poked and prodded, remembers waking up and screaming, trying to throw himself out of bed. He remembers Sasaki, pointing the same gun at him, at a child, at him again. He remembers Mouse, remembers the fear in her red, red eyes and the fire in his chest. Izuku remembers the cream colored rooms of the basement, remembers the soot that stained Mouse’s tiny hands, the tangles in her hair. Izuku remembers the forest, set ablaze with blue fire that crackled and spit hot embers into the night sky. Izuku remembers blood that isn’t his, gushing from Muscular’s neck. 

“Izuku,” he hears, firm and present. “Izuku, can you hear me?” It’s his mother’s voice, soft and calm even with the tears soaking the sound. Izuku blinks, turns. He can see his mother’s eyes, dark and green and wet, her familiar face staring back at him. Izuku swallows, and nods, even though he’s not entirely sure where he is, right now. He doesn’t feel right, doesn’t feel anchored to the ground, to the couch he realizes he’s sitting on. 

“Izuku,” and that’s Aizawa’s voice, low and rough but soothing anyway. “You’re in your living room at home. You’re sitting on the couch next to your mom. It’s August 5th.” He takes a deep breath. “You’re at home.” Izuku blinks, looking to him, and he sees Aizawa blink. “You back with us, kid?”

“W-What happened?” Izuku asks, frowning. The steaming mug of tea that's been sitting in front of his mother isn’t steaming any more. It only feels like it’s been a couple of minutes, but Izuku can’t help but shake the sensation that more time than that has passed. 

“We lost you there for a minute, problem child,” Aizawa says, and Izuku can hear relief, barely concealed, in his voice. “I think we should stop for today.” 

Izuku swallows. “S-Sorry,” he says, his voice hoarse. He sees his mom shake her head out of the corner of his eye, but it’s Tsukauchi who speaks.

“Don’t be,” he says, something sad in his eyes even as he smiles. “You’ve done more than enough.” His eyes move over to Aizawa. “There’s one last thing we want to talk to you about, though,” Aizawa nods, and Izuku sees his mom tense up, slightly.

“Izuku, when you were in the hospital, we saw the wounds on your arms,” Aizawa says. “I want you to start therapy as soon as possible. Between what you’ve just been through, your self harm,” Izuku flinches, but Aizawa doesn’t pause, “and your tendency to be self sacrificing, it’s necessary. Your mother and I have already talked about it to some degree, but...” He trails off, his eyes shifting to Inko. “UA is having students move into dormitories. It’s optional, but highly recommended for hero course students.” Izuku blinks, and his mom starts speaking.

“I don’t want you going back to UA,” she says, her voice firm. Izuku turns to gape at her, but she doesn’t let up. “You’ve been hurt so many times because of UA. I won’t allow them to put you in danger again.” She sighs, biting at her lower lip. “It’s irresponsible of the school, frankly. Hosting the sports festival, even after what happened that first week? And then they let you and the other kids get so  _ injured _ , even though it was just a festival.” She shakes her head. “I’ve thought about this, and you won’t be able to change my mind,” she glances to Aizawa. “I know you care about my son, and I appreciate what you’ve done for him, but as his mother, this is where I draw the line. He  _ never _ should have been put in this situation. There’s no excuse.” 

“Mom--” Izuku starts, but Inko cuts him off, shaking her head again.

“No. You can transfer to another heroics program, somewhere that isn’t so high profile. And you can start counseling at the hospital.” Her eyes are wet, filled with unshed tears, but the look on her face is fierce. “I don’t care if you hate me for it, but I’m not going to let you get hurt any more.” 

“Mom, c-can I talk to you in private?” Izuku asks, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He casts a glance at Tsukauchi and Aizawa, who both look pretty uncomfortable with the whole situation. “Please?” Aizawa frowns, and Izuku can see his mom sigh, frowning. 

“Yes,” she says. “Let’s go to my room.” She stands up, brushing off the front of her pants, then offers Izuku a hand which he takes, savoring the warmth of his mother’s hand. He glances back at Aizawa and Tsukauchi as he stands up, letting his mom pull him.

“W-We’ll be right back,” Izuku says, and his mom nods.

“It won’t take long,” she confirms, and Izuku knows that’s because she’s decided she isn’t changing her mind. Izuku hates that he  _ has _ to change her mind.

Izuku’s mom leads him away from the living room, down the short hallway and past the door to Izuku’s room. She opens the door to her room, the door sliding open, and she steps inside. It’s dim inside, with the light from the window filtered through her curtains, and she walks over to the window, pulling them back to let more light in as Izuku shuts the door behind him. His mother’s room is neat, as always, with her bed made up with dark emerald green blankets, the wooden floor neat and swept clean. Izuku used to come in here a lot, to get into bed with his mom on lonely nights, but in the past few years, he hasn’t been here much at all. The afternoon sun casts a golden square of light on the ground from where it spills through the window. Inko turns to face Izuku, her face determined.

“I meant what I said,” she says, voice quiet but strong. “I can’t stand by and watch you put yourself in danger. Izuku,” she says, holding her hands in front of her, palms up, “why can’t you just keep being a vigilante? You were helping people, and you’ve gotten hurt far more at UA. You can’t be arrested, right? Because you’re not illegally using a quirk?” She stares at Izuku, the light for the window framing her in a golden halo. Her eyes shine even in the shadow of her hair.

“T-That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Izuku says, stepping away from the door. He doesn’t think Aizawa or Tsukauchi would listen in, but he doesn’t want to make it easy for them if they are. He takes a deep breath.

“What is it, baby?” Inko asks, stepping forward. Izuku meets her gaze.

“At the villain’s base, there’s a little girl,” he says. He swallows, clenching his jaw for just a moment. “She’s only six, mom. And she... they’re abusing her. Torturing her. She’s covered in these burns, from cigarettes, and they’ve told her she’s  _ dangerous _ , that she’s bad because her quirk is... it’s scary.” Izuku bites at his lower lip, watches his mom’s face flicker with pain. “I couldn’t get out of the base without making a deal,” he says. “I-I joined the villains. As Ace.” 

His mom blinks, and then sighs, her shoulders drooping as she shuts her eyes. “Oh, Izuku. You didn’t.”

“I did,” Izuku says, swallowing. “And if I give them away now, if I betray them so early, I’m worried they’d hurt her--the little girl.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m going to save her, mom. They have other victims, too. I’m going to save all of them, but I have to figure out how. And they--they want me to stay at their base, sometimes.” He opens his eyes. “I-If I’m in the UA dorms, it gives me a good reason to only go on weekends,” he says, and he watches realization spread across his mother’s face.

“You’ll be safe, there,” she says, exhaling slowly. “It’ll keep you away from harm.” She sighs, running a hand through her long green hair. “Izuku, why do you do this to me?” she asks, shaking her head.

“I’m sorry, mom,” Izuku says, and he really, really is. “But the girl--they call her Mouse--she’s just... I don’t think anyone has ever really cared about her. I don’t think she’s ever really been  _ safe _ ,” he says. “I can’t leave her there. And we can’t tell anyone. They’d  _ kill _ her, mom.” His voice breaks, and he bites his lip, watching his mom take a deep, steadying breath.

“Okay,” she says, staring Izuku down, and Izuku blinks in surprise. “But you’re going to text me every day. And if you’re going to do something dangerous, you’re going to tell me ahead of time. And if you go missing again, I’m telling the police. And your teachers.” She reaches out, places a hand on Izuku’s shoulder. “You’re not going to go through this alone. I won’t allow it.” 

Izuku blinks, feeling warm tears build up in his eyes. “Okay, mom,” he says, the edges of his lips curling up into a smile, and then he’s being pulled into a tight hug, his mom squeezing him and burying her face in his shoulder. Izuku returns the hug with his own tight grip, chuckling lightly as tears begin to run down his face.

“Don’t disappear like that again,” Inko says into his shoulder. “Don’t scare me like that again.” 

“I’ll try not to,” Izuku whispers. “I love you, mom.” Inko’s arms tighten around him.

“I love you too, Izuku,” she says, then she pulls back, giving him a watery smile with her hands on his shoulders. “Let’s go and give your teacher a talking to,” she says, giggling, and Izuku raises his eyebrows.

“Mom, don’t bully Aizawa-sensei too much,” he says, chuckling as he reaches up to wipe his tears away, and Inko giggles as she lets go of Izuku to do the same, wiping her face on her sleeves. 

“He deserves it for letting you get kidnapped,” she says. Izuku shakes his head, still smiling as he turns to slide open the door. He walks back down the hallway, and when he and his mom step into the living room, Tsukauchi and Aizawa turn to look at them. They’ve clearly been talking to one another, and their faces are tense. Something small softens in Aizawa’s gaze, though, when his eyes settle on Izuku’s still-smiling face.

“Mr. Aizawa,” Inko says, standing beside the couch, her arms folded over her chest. Izuku blinks, awkwardly taking his seat from before. “I will allow Izuku to move into the dorms. However, I have a few conditions.” Aizawa blinks, and his expression is as blank as ever, but Izuku thinks he can make out surprise in his eyes.

“Okay,” he says, turning in his chair to better face Inko. “Let’s hear them.”

“First,” Inko says, holding up one finger. “You’re going to communicate better with the parents. I didn’t know that you suspected Izuku was hurting himself until he was in the hospital. Nurses and doctors may have confidentiality restrictions, but teachers don’t.” Inko scowls, her eyebrows furrowed, and Aizawa nods.

“You’re right, and I’m sorry. We should have informed you.” He dips his head in apology, and Inko sighs, raising another finger.

“Second, you’re going to give these kids therapy.  _ All _ of them. Even if they don’t want it.” Inko’s eyes narrow. “They’ve all been through so much trauma, both Izuku’s class and the other heroics class. This ties into my third condition.” Inko raises a third finger. “Finally, you’re going to hire a full medical team. UA is far too big of a school for you to have only one nurse, no matter how great her quirk is for healing. I’m sure that plenty of medical workers would be more than happy to work at UA.” Inko’s lips twitch into a small smile. “I’m a registered nurse myself, and I’d be more than happy to apply.”

Aizawa blinks, opens his mouth to reply, but before he can even get a syllable out, Inko cuts him off.

“And if you don’t do this, then I’m not letting Izuku go back, and that’s not all I’ll do. I already know plenty of nice, respectful reporters. I’m sure that the press would love to air a story about how UA isn’t treating its students right,” Inko says, setting her jaw, her face determined and fierce like Izuku’s never seen it before. “Is that clear?” 

Aizawa swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Crystal,” he deadpans. “I have to speak with the school board on this,” he says, glancing to Izuku, “but I don’t think it’ll be a problem.” He looks back at Inko and stands up, only to fold over at the waist in a neat bow. “You’re absolutely right. UA has failed your son, and it has failed the other students in its heroics course. I’m sorry that it got to this point in the first place, but I will do everything in my power to do what you have asked of us.” Izuku can see Aizawa’s face from this angle, can see the clear discomfort there, but somehow it makes Izuku more impressed.  _ Aizawa hates this _ , he thinks.  _ He hates to have to beg like this. But he’s willing to do it for me _ . Izuku feels something warm and soft bubble up in his chest. 

“Good,” Inko says, then blinks. “U-Um, you can stand!” she says, waving her hands in front of her. “Goodness, I’m not usually so firm, I promise.” She chuckles, rubbing the back of her head with one hand. “I’m just worried about Izuku, you know?”

Aizawa straightens up, the beginnings of a smile on his face as he casts a sidelong glance at Izuku. “Oh, I certainly have an idea of what that’s like,” he says, and Tsukauchi chuckles lightly from where he’s still sitting in his chair before rising, turning to Inko.

“Thank you for letting us into your home to talk to your son,” Tsukauchi says, offering Inko a hand. She takes it, and Tsukauchi grips it with both hands, giving her a quick handshake. Izuku watches his mom give him a wary look.

“I still wish he hadn’t had to be questioned in the first place,” she replies, and Tsuakuchi nods, looking apologetic. 

“I know,” he says, dipping his head to her as he releases her hand. “From the sound of it, I’ll see you at UA,” he says, smiling. Inko returns the smile with a determined grin. 

“I hope so,” she says. “And thank you, for looking after my son.” She looks over at Izuku, and their eyes meet. “Even if it shouldn’t have happened at all, I didn’t miss the way you two worked so hard to get him back.”

“I-It’s nothing,” Tsuakuchi says, looking embarrassed. “Just doing our jobs!” 

Inko shrugs. “Still. It’s good to know that Izuku has people in his corner, both at UA and with the police.” She smiles at Izuku, and Izuku returns it. 

As Aizawa and Tsukauchi filter out of their house and Inko starts to tidy up the living room, Izuku sits on the couch.  _ I’m going back to UA, _ he thinks, over and over.  _ I’m going to UA, and I’m going to live with my friends! _ For the first time since the first attack from the villains at the summer camp, over a week ago, Izuku feels bright excitement burn happy and strong in his chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: uhhh none i think?
> 
> [discord!](https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt)
> 
> I HOPE U ENJOYED!!!! this chapter was very fun to write :3c i like inko so much and i just need our boy to have a good mom okay
> 
> thank you for all of the unending support!!! it means the WORLD to me <3


	49. intermission, part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: inko gave aizawa and tsukauchi a lecture after they questioned izuku

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM ALIVE!!!!! oh my gosh yall i am SO SORRY for not updating the past two days!!! im in texas, and as most of you probs know, shit's CRAZY here! we didn't have power or water monday or tuesday, and it was getting dangerously cold in the dorms, so we evacuated :') we're somewhere safe now, and im SO happy to be able to write!! im planning to either do a couple of bonus one shots or an extra chapter in the next couple of days to try and compensate for the two missing chapters!! thank you all so much for your patience especially without any warning!!!
> 
> i hope you enjoy <3

Izuku stands outside the Bakugou’s front door, shifting back and forth on his feet. It’s oppressively hot, the summer sun blazing down on his back, where the awning of the house doesn’t quite shade him. Izuku swallows around the nerves that rise in his throat, stepping forward so that he’s fully in the shade, and he knocks on the door twice, firmly. 

“Coming!” a voice calls from inside, loud and feminine. Izuku knows Aunt Mitsuki's voice well, and sure enough, a few moments later, she opens the door. She's dressed in nice clothes, probably her own design--a well fitted t-shirt with embroidered poppies and a pair of tailored knee length pants. She smiles wide when she sees Izuku.

"Oh, Izuku, it's good to see you all in one piece!" she says, reaching out to rest a hand on his upper arm. "Are you here to see Katsuki? He's being a fucking brat, but it'd do him some good to see you." She ushers him inside, and Izuku lets her, his mouth open slightly to reply, but he's stopped by Masaru greeting him from the kitchen.

"Hello, Izuku," he says, wiping his hands off on the front of his apron. He's standing in front of the sink, and Izuku can see an assortment of fresh vegetables sitting on the counter beside a cutting board: bright orange carrots, pale green celery, golden onions, and earthy brown potatoes.

“H-Hi,” Izuku replies, taking a few steps deeper into the house. It’s both bigger than he remembers and not as big; he remembers the ceilings being higher, the furniture being taller, but he’d forgotten how wide the living room was, how big the kitchen was. He swallows as he takes in how  _ clean _ it is, too, all cream colored carpets and reddish tan tile and warm brown granite countertops. The room reminds him of the Gekkeiju base, for some reason, even though it doesn’t actually look all that similar. Izuku supposes that it’s just the  _ luxury _ of it.

“Katsuki’s up in his room,” Masaru says, and Izuku nods. He turns to the stairs that he knows leads up to Kacchan’s room.

“Katsuki!” Mitsuki shouts, cupping one hand around her mouth and tilting her head back to shout at the ceiling. “Izuku’s here to see you!” Izuku hears an explosion from upstairs, and he cringes at the noise.

“Tell him to go the fuck home!” Kacchan shouts back, his voice rough and loud. “I don’t want to see that shitty fuckin’ nerd.” Izuku swallows, looking at Mitsuki, whose brows drop and mouth twitches into a grimace.

“He came out to visit you, and you’re coming downstairs to greet him like a polite host!” she shouts back up at him. “Izuku just got back from being kidnapped!” Izuku winces, biting at his lower lip. 

“Yeah, so did I!” Kacchan shouts back. Izuku hears something slam against the floor, probably Kacchan stomping on it. “And I don’t want any fucking visitors!”

“Oh, you ungrateful fucking brat,” Mitsuki snarls, and Izuku takes a step back, away from her. “You’ve been back for almost two weeks already!” Izuku edges towards the door. 

“I-I can leave,” Izuku says, but she ignores him. Izuku doesn’t remember her being quite so aggressive, but then again, he hasn’t been to this place in years. 

“Yeah, two weeks that you haven’t left me the fuck alone!” Kacchan yells. Izuku takes a few more steps back, and Mitsuki turns to look at him.

“Ignore the brat,” she says, smiling. “You can just go on up whenever you’d like. He’ll deal with it.”

“I-I think I’ll come back later,” Izuku says, giving her a half hearted smile and backing away slowly. He hears a bang from upstairs and rhythmic chopping of a knife against a cutting board.

“Nonsense!” Mitsuki says, a grin splitting her face. “Katsuki’s just being difficult. He’ll be happy to see you.” She takes a step toward Izuku, and Izuku feels something sharp and anxious rise up in his throat. 

“Mitsuki, let the boy go,” Masaru says from in the kitchen. “He can come back when Katsuki isn’t in such a bad mood.” Izuku thinks, absently, that recovering from a kidnapping is a little bit more than just a bad mood, but Kacchan’s parents probably know him better than Izuku does, so who is he to judge?

“Fine, fine,” Mitsuki says, sighing and rolling her eyes. “But you should really come back soon, Izuku. Katuski could use a good influence. You’re so polite.” She gives him an eager smile. 

“Sure,” he replies, returning the smile awkwardly. “I’ll come back soon.” The words feel false on his lips as he steps backward, slipping out the door into the afternoon sun. The door shuts quietly, but Izuku can still hear shouting as he steps away, turning and walking quickly down the street. He tries to put it out of his mind, but the entire interaction weighs on him heavily as he makes his way back to his house. Izuku isn’t sure if it’s because Kacchan didn’t want to see him, or if it’s the way Mitsuki acted about it, but either way, he doesn’t like it.

\--

When Izuku slips away from the house and his mom next, it’s to walk to the hardware store. It’s only a short distance away, but it’s still warm enough out that by the end of it, there’s a thin sheen of sweat on his brow. Izuku finds himself watching the bugs that crawl and climb in the long grass that pokens up in the narrow space between the sidewalk and the brick wall next to it. There are tiny little grasshoppers, green and pink, that sit on the longest stalks, their huge eyes watching him, and there are gnats so tiny that Izuku can’t make anything out beside the fact that they’re there at all, flitting from plant to plant. He’s sure there must be ants, too, but he can’t actually see them except for where a line of black sugar ants climb the brick wall, each carrying a piece of something. Izuku thinks it might be grass seeds, but he honestly can’t tell. 

When Izuku gets to the hardware store, he and Miura make eye contact through the glass even before he’s pushing the door open. She’s dressed in a grey tank top and a pair of cropped jeans, and Izuku’s surprised to see she doesn’t look as bruised as normal. Even the small bruises that always wrap the bones of her fingers are gone. 

“Midoriya,” she greets as he pushes open the glass door and steps into the shop, the bell ringing softly to announce his entrance. “I was starting to wonder if you’d make it here at all.” Izuku blinks, meeting her eyes, and he can see the admonishment there.

“I’ve had a lot of eyes on me,” he replies, biting at his lower lip. “I-I didn’t want someone to follow me and wonder why I’d come to a hardware store of all things so quickly.” Miura nods, her eyes softening.

“I figured it was something like that,” she says, sighing and rolling her shoulders back. “Anything to report?” Her eyes rest on his face, not quite meeting his eyes, but close enough.

“Yeah,” Izuku says, swallowing. “UA is moving the hero students into the dormitories. I’ll be staying there during the weekdays,” he says, biting the flesh on the inside of his cheek as Miura’s gaze sharpens. “I-Is that going to be a problem?”

“A problem?” she echoes, voice thoughtful. “No. But it might make a few things more complicated. You’ll need to be very careful when you leave at night.” She breathes out. “Speaking of. Your costume is nearly ready, but... the boss has made a decision regarding your public status.” She sighs. “You won’t be openly a member of the Gekkeiju, and we’d like you to avoid revealing that you work with us until you receive orders to the contrary.” She meets his gaze, then, dark eyes boring into his. “It’d be far too suspicious, for you to be captured by us and then a vigilante about your age to become a member so soon after.”

Izuku blinks, then nods. “O-Okay, that shouldn’t be a problem,” he replies, voice quiet. Miura smiles, slightly.

“If anything, it’ll make things easier for you, I’d assume,” she says, then leans forward reaching under her desk. “I’ve got something for you.” She pulls out a small grey flip phone. “This has the number of all of the lieutenants and Mr. Clean. I’ll use this to give you assignments and simple orders, but most things will be done in person. Also,” she says, swallowing and looking to the side. “You’ll be reporting to Kazuo a fair bit as well. It can’t be helped; he’s taken a liking to you.” Izuku swallows.

“A liking to me?” he echoes, and Miura nodly sharply, still not meeting his gaze.

“Like I said,” she says, throat bobbing as she swallows. “It can’t be helped. If I were to try and stop it, it’d only make things worse for the both of us.” She sighs, her eyes shutting for just a moment. “It’s easier if you give him what he wants,” she says, her eyes sliding over to Izuku. “You should go out as Ace soon. You’ve taken breaks this long before, right?”

Izuku nods. “Y-Yeah. Won’t it look suspicious, though?” He fidgets with the sleeves of his long sleeved shirt. Miura shrugs, holding out the flip phone. Izuku takes it.

“Not if you don’t act any different,” she says. “If anyone asks where you’ve been, just act confused. You don’t interact with people every time you go out anyway, right?” 

Izuku nods. “Y-Yeah.” He holds the flip phone in his hands, turns it over. It’s turned off, and when Izuku switches it on, it doesn't seem to have anything on it other than texting and calling. 

“Keep that hidden. Check it once or twice a day, but don’t keep it on your person unless you know you’re going to need it,” Miura says. Izuku nods, shutting the phone off and sliding it into the pockets of his cargo shorts. 

“T-Thanks,” Izuku says, and Miura frowns.

“Don’t thank me,” she says, looking to the side. “I’m just telling you the basics so you don’t get yourself arrested in a day.” She sighs, long and slow. “Go home. People are probably wondering where you went. It hasn’t even been a week.”

Izuku blinks, then nods. “R-Right,” he says, turning and walking out of the store. He resists the urge to look back to see if Miura is watching as he walks away, down the brightly lit sidewalk. 

\--

When Izuku dreams, it is in color. It’s the cream walls of the Gekkeiju’s basement, the grey soot that streaks Mouse’s little hands, and the blue of the flames that crackled and burned through the forest. He dreams of the taste of sour acid in his mouth as he lies on cold, cracked linoleum, the smell of a campfire permeating the room Mouse was kept in, the scent of fresh, green hay as Izuku stared into Sasaki’s glowing green eyes. Izuku dreams of Heaven and Hell, dreams of the lightning-sharp pain that sits in the spaces inside his bones, the soft, soothing comfort that filled his veins and blanketed him in happiness. 

When Izuku wakes up in his bed, gasping and shaking and covered in a cold sweat, that’s the worst part. Not the way thinking about the basement fills him with dread and fear, not the way his heart squeezes when he remembers the terrified, empty look to Mouse’s eyes, but the way he finds himself thinking about Fury’s quirk, about the “heaven” of Heaven and Hell. Izuku hates the way he dreams about it, the way he can’t help but think about it, at times. 

The only thing Izuku’s felt that comes  _ close _ is the euphoria of bleeding out, the rush of pure nothing that washes over him in the moments before he dies from slitting his wrists. Cutting is the same  _ type _ of feeling, but not as strong. Maybe that’s why Izuku keeps finding himself drawing warm baths in the days since he’s come home. He doesn't dare to cut himself and leave it, but there’s something so nice about being able to sink into his bathtub, being able to feel himself relaxing and dissolving into the warmth of the water. 

The moment he craves, of course, is after he’s soaked for a moment, after his body is clean and warm, and he digs the too-sharp blade of a knife into his wrists or his throat or the edge of his thigh, where the femoral artery lurks below the surface. Izuku probably shouldn’t kill himself every night, but, well, it’s better than letting himself think too hard about how much he  _ misses _ Fury’s quirk, even though the heaven part had only been used on him  _ once _ . How weak is he, that he’s still thinking so much about it, even after a week? 

Izuku limits himself to once a night, of course. He’s not trying to do any real damage.  _ It’s like bonus quirk training, really _ , he thinks.  _ It’s not like it really hurts me. I wake up every time, so it’s okay _ . Izuku doesn’t let himself think too hard about what he’ll do once he’s in the dorms. He’s not sure, but he assumes they’ll have communal bathrooms of some kind, and he isn’t brave enough to try and bleed himself to death in one of those unless he has to. He wouldn’t want to get caught and survive the ordeal. 

Sometimes, when he’s bleeding out into the bathwater, the sounds of water echoing in the quiet room, interrupted only by his quick, shallow breaths, he thinks about the sports festival, so long ago. He thinks about Todoroki, catching him bleeding out not once, but twice. He thinks about how his friend had tried to save him, had pressed his palms into Izuku’s bleeding wound, had tried to save him with all of his might. Izuku thinks about how Todoroki remembers, just a little.  _ It’s strange, _ he thinks as the bathwater takes on a red color and a metallic scent.  _ Why does he remember?  _ Monoma remembers for a reason, but Todoroki has no copying quirk to speak of.

Izuku thinks about things like that, thinks about how any of his friends have seen him die and just don’t remember it, instead of letting himself think about the Gekkeiju or what he’s gotten himself into. He feels himself drain away, and as he eyes shut, sometimes, he thinks he feels a tugging sensation before he falls unconscious. He wonders if it’s death, coming to claim him.

\--

The sun is already hot and bright by the time Izuku steps out of the train station and onto the street that will take him to UA. He’s glad that they’d let him send most of his stuff in advance, so he only has his backpack, stuffed with a few things he’d either needed for the few days between sending his bags and moving out or that he hadn’t wanted to send without him there to watch them, like his razors and his Ace costume. His knives in and of themselves aren’t suspicious--he’s a hero in training who fights armed--but the razors were sort of... unambiguous. Plus, Izuku had wanted to be able to use them. He might not be able to leave cuts on his arms, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t cut before he killed himself. 

Izuku walks down the street quickly, his eyes already on the shining blue surface of what must be one of the new dorm buildings. He can see a few of them, peeking up over the shorter buildings that lay between him and the campus. Izuku finds himself watching the reflection of the clouds and the blue sky in the material as he approaches.  _ How tall are they? Five, six stories? It’s enough to kill me with a head first drop, but low enough that I wouldn’t want to use it unless it’s an emergency _ , Izuku thinks to himself as he walks through UA’s gate and onto the campus. He can see a lot of buildings, now that he’s here, and he wonders if they let general studies and support courses move onto campus, too. It would only make sense; after all, there should only be six hero course classes. Izuku can see at  _ least _ ten dorm buildings.

He can also see some of his friends at the steps to the first dorm building, the one closest to the gate. He supposes it makes sense, given that they’re class 1-A. He can see heads of red, yellow, and pink hair off to one side, standing next to who Izuku thinks is Jirou. She’s facing toward him, so she’s easier to see. Off to the other side, Izuku can see Iida, tall and recognizable next to Todoroki, whose distinctive hair gives him away even though he’s looking away. Izuku guesses that they’re talking to Yaoyorozu and Uraraka, and as he gets closer, he can see that Tsuyu is standing with them, too. 

Izuku picks up the pace, and he can see the exact moment that Uraraka spots him, her grin growing on her face as she raises a hand and waves to him. Izuku smiles, his cheeks hurting with how wide it is, and he waves back to her, the motion big and dramatic. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed his friends, even in just the week that he was away from them. As he approaches, his feet knocking against the concrete as he jogs forward, Iida and Todoroki turn to face him, too. Yaoyorozu and Tsuyu look up at him, both of their faces sprouting smiles, too. 

“Hey, guys!” Izuku says, slowing to a stop. “It feels like it’s been forever,” he says, wrapping his hands over the straps of his backpack. Uraraka nods, quickly, her head bobbing up and down, and Iida nods quickly. 

“It has been far too long!” Iida exclaims, an eager smile on his face. “How have you been, Midoriya?” He glances over Izuku, his eyes catching on his long sleeves. “Oh, you’re still in your winter uniform! Did you not receive your summer one yet?” 

Izuku swallows, putting a smile on his face. “Oh, no, I just get cold easily indoors, so I prefer it!” he says, tipping his head to the side. “I sunburn easy, too, so it just made the most sense.” Yaoyorozu nods, looking thoughtful.

“That is really quite smart, Midoriya,” she says, putting a hand to her chin. “It’s like when people use an umbrella to block the sun, but you don’t have to carry it with you.”

“Exactly,” Izuku says, smiling and nodding. If his smile is in relief at them not questioning him and not because he’s happy Yaoyorozu agrees with his fake reason, well, nobody needs to know that. 

“Won’t you get hot, though?” Tsuyu asks, tipping her head to the side. “It’s quite warm today, ribbit.” Her gaze is a little too thoughtful for Izuku’s liking, and he shrugs, trying to make the motion look easy and not forced.

“I’d rather sweat a little on the walk over than be shivering in class all day,” he says. Tsuyu nods. 

“I get it,” she says. “I get cold easily myself, so in the winter, I overcompensate.”

“Nevermind about his uniform,” Uraraka says impatiently. “How are you feeling, Deku? We’ve been worried sick about you!” Izuku blinks.

“O-Oh, I’ve been fine!” he says. “I didn’t mean to worry any of you, but my new phone just came in yesterday, and I didn’t have anyone’s numbers except Kacchan and he’s ignoring me right now, so--” Uraraka cuts him off by sticking out her hand.

“Well, hand it over! I’ll text myself from your phone, and then I can share everyone’s contacts with you and we can add you to the group chat,” she says, wiggling her hand impatiently. Izuku blinks, then slides his new phone out of his pocket and sets it in Uraraka’s open palm. It’s a different one from his Gekkeiju phone,  _ obviously _ , and he got it in bright silver so that there’d be no chance of mistaking one phone for the other. Uraraka starts typing on the phone just as Todoroki tips his head and starts to speak.

“Look,” he says, jerking his head forward. “Aizawa-sensei.” Izuku blinks and turns, and sure enough, Aizawa is approaching, walking slowly with his hands shoved in his pockets and his capture scarf hiding the lower half of his face. Izuku wonders how he’s not burning up with heat. Izuku’s a little warm in his blazer; he can’t imagine what his teacher’s hero uniform must be like. 

Aizawa glances up at them as he approaches, but his face remains as impassive as always. Izuku swallows nervously as he steps up the stairs, moving to face the class. Izuku can see that everyone’s here now, and he suspects Aizawa was waiting for that to be the case before he addressed the class.

“Alright,” Aizawa says, rolling his shoulders back and facing them. “First off, I want to say that I’m glad to see you all made it here safely.” A few whispers break out among Izuku’s classmates, but they quickly settle down as Aizawa keeps talking. “I’m going to give you all a briefing about the dorms, but before that, there’s something I need to say.” 

“Uh oh,” someone says from off to the side. Aizawa shoots a glare in their general direction. 

“At the end of the training camp, the plan had been to give you all your provisional licenses,” Aizawa says. “But that didn’t happen. Some of you, however, decided to act like you had them anyway.” His eyes narrow. “Kirishima, Iida, Todoroki, and Yaoyorozu, you decided to take it upon yourselves to go to Kamino on that evening with two members of class 1-B.” A few students gasp softly, but Aizawa keeps talking. “I understand that you wanted to save your friends, but what you did was beyond irresponsible. And from what I’ve heard,” he says, gaze sweeping over the class, “the rest of you knew what they were planning and decided not to tell anyone. As it is, if it weren’t for All Might’s sudden retirement, I would be expelling every member of this class except for Jirou, Hagakure, Bakugou, and Midoriya.” A quiet falls over the class as they all stare at their teacher.

“I think it goes without saying why that’s the case,” Aizawa continues, sighing. “Regardless of your reason, the fact is that you betrayed the trust us teachers have placed in you, so some things will be changing. I would much appreciate it if you would follow the rules that you’ve been told about time and time again,” he says, his eyes sticking on Iida and Todoroki where they stand beside Izuku. “If you did, that would go a long way toward restoring our trust in you.” He turns, walking up the stairs. “That’s it for now. Let’s go ahead and get started. Moving in should be fun,” he says, his voice still its usual deadpan.

The class is silent, and Izuku can see everyone staring at each other, grimaces on frowns on their faces. Kacchan scoffs from where he’s standing beside Kirishima and Kaminari, and Izuku watches as he digs around in one of his pockets and produces a wad of paper money, holding them out at Kirishima with a scowl on his face. Kirishima stares at it, blinking.

“Just take it, fucking Shitty Hair,” Kacchan says, kicking at the concrete ground underneath him. “You’re making it into a big deal.”

Kirishima swallows, reaching out and taking it with wide eyes. “F-For the night vision goggles...? How did you?” He holds the money, just staring at it, and the rest of the class is still too quiet. Kacchan scoffs, grabbing Kaminari by his collar and dragging him.

“C’mere, Pikachu,” he says, and Kaminari gives a vague noise of protest before he’s behind the bushes with Kacchan. Izuku stares, blinking away sunspots as a burst of bright electricity fills the air, and Kacchan is suddenly pushing out Kaminari, whose face has gone blank and happy as he gives an enthusiastic thumbs up.

“Yay!” he says, bouncing in place a little, and Kacchan comes out of the bushes, brushing off the front of his pants. Jirou snickers, Izuku’s head turning at the sudden noise, and he sees that most of Kacchan’s group is giggling, the tension broken. Izuku glances at his own friends and sees that it’s not the case for them; Yaoyorozu, Iida, and Todoroki are looking  _ far _ too guilty, Tsuyu and Uraraka far too angry. 

“You guys went to try and save Kacchan?” Izuku asks, his eyes meeting Todoroki’s mismatched ones. Todoroki swallows visibly.

“We... we had hoped you would be there, too,” he says, his gaze dropping down and to the side. Izuku blinks.

“Y-You would have done that for me?” Izuku asks, his voice small. Uraraka’s brows furrow.

“Of course they would have,” she says. “If it hadn’t been a stupid, reckless idea in the first place, I would have, too.” Beside her, Tsuyu nods, but it’s Yaoyorozu who speaks next.

“I know that Kendou and Monoma were there specifically for you, Midoriya,” she says. “I don’t think any of us wanted any of our classmates hurting. It was truly unfortunate that I only had placed a tracker on one villain,” Yaoyorozu says, frowning and looking down. “If I had thought to put one on more of them, you could have been rescued and you wouldn’t have...” she trails off, swallowing. 

“I-It’s okay, really,” Izuku says, raising his hands placatingly. “I-I survived, didn’t I?” he says, cracking an awkward smile. His friends look at him, their expressions ranging from skeptical to accepting, but it’s enough to break the tension between everyone, and the air feels lighter as they turn to follow Aizawa into the dorm building. 

It’s dimmer inside the building, but the lights are on, and Izuku blinks as his eyes adjust. It’s  _ nice _ inside, with floor to ceiling windows everywhere and thick, plush green rugs covering most of the brown tile floor. The walls are painted a bright spring green to match the couches, a few shades lighter than the rugs, and Izuku finds himself really, really grateful that they hadn’t picked cream for the walls or floors. Izuku can see a kitchen up ahead, with shiny, stainless steel appliances and a brown and green tile backsplash. 

“It’s a freaking mansion,” Uraraka breathes next to him as they step into the building, the cool air conditioning washing over them. Izuku has to agree. It’s nice, incredibly so, but he’s grateful that the decor isn’t so fancy and luxurious. It’s homey, welcoming. Izuku doesn’t know what he’d do if his new home reminded him of the Gekkeiju base. 

“There’s a building for each class, as I’m sure you’d gathered from the 1-A on the outside of this one,” Aizawa explains. “All of the first year dorms are together for all of the classes, then second years, and so on. The boys’ wing is on the left, girls’ on the right. Common space is shared. The laundry rooms and baths are also separated by gender, although they’re all on this floor.” Aizawa looks around. “I’m sure you can figure out most of this, but the faculty dorm is just across the main pathway, and you should all have my number. Don’t hesitate to call or text if you have any trouble or need help. If I’m out of town, I’ll let you know ahead of time so you know to call Mic instead.”

“You each have private rooms,” Aizawa continues. “You should have been given a room number and your keys in the mail already,” he says, glancing over the class. Izuku nods, sliding a hand into his pocket and feeling the keys on his key ring, the metal warm from his body heat.

“Your stuff should already be in your rooms. You have all of today to get settled in and unpacked. Tomorrow I’ll go over how things will operate, but I’ll go ahead and let you know that you need to let me know before you leave campus.” Aizawa looks over the class. “If there aren’t any questions, you’re free to go.” 

Izuku stands, blinking, as the class starts to disperse. He swallows and heads toward the stairs, his head buzzing with thought as he trails behind Todoroki and Iida.  _ Let him know before we leave, huh?  _ Izuku had been expecting as much, but he still wishes that it wasn’t a rule. He’ll have to test to see if there’s any actual sensors to let Aizawa know if he leaves, or if it’s just a problem if he gets caught. Izuku isn’t sure how he’s going to go out as Ace if there’s some kind of sensor system. 

“What floor are you on, Midoriya?” Todoroki asks, glancing down at Izuku. Izuku blinks. 

“T-The second,” he replies, and Todoroki nods.

“I’m on the fifth,” Todoroki says, glancing at the stairs ahead of him. “I’ll see you later?” Izuku smiles, the movement gentle as it creeps up his lips.

“O-Of course,” he replies as he steps off of the stairs and onto the second floor. It’s mostly empty up here, although Izuku can see Aoyama through the door to his room, which is wide open. Izuku shuffles down the hallway, glancing at the labels on the walls next to the doors. The wall is the same green color as the first floor, but the floor is a soft, polished wood. Izuku finds his door is the second one from the stairs, and he fumbles with his keys for a moment, making little clinking noises as they knock against each other, before he finds the right one and slips it into the lock, turning it easily. He pushes the door to his room open to find a stack of boxes and his bags. 

Izuku sighs, glancing around the room, at the bed, desk, the refrigerator, and the tall sliding glass door that leads out onto the balcony.  _ I’ve got a lot of work to do _ , he thinks to himself, shutting his door and rolling up his sleeves.  _ Better get started! _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: uhhhh i think there's mention of vomiting, heavily implied child abuse, more self harm references than usual
> 
> [discord!](https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt)
> 
> i hope you enjoyed!!!! there's only going to be a few more "intermission" chapters before we get to the next major arc :D im really excited for the stuff i have going on for the provisional license exam arc :D :D it's gonna be way fun to write (and hopefully to read)
> 
> thank you all as always for the support!!! it means the world to me <3 sorry again for the lateness of this chapter!! i hope to make up for it soon


	50. intermission, part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku meets up with miura and then it's time to move into the dorms!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GAMERS here's a longer chap for you bc you're that pog

Izuku sighs, tipping his head back to look up at his ceiling. His bed is soft underneath him, the green and black comforter his mom had gotten him even nicer than he’d expected it to be after reading the Amazon reviews for it. The rug he’d put on the floor, a deep black, fluffy thing, is soft and cool under his bare feet, and as he glances forward to take in his new room, he has to say he feels pretty good about it. 

His desk is set up with a lot of pens and pencils, all neatly organized, and he’s got his lamp angled  _ just  _ right, so that he can easily study. The bookshelf is filled with his notebooks, with the ones containing info about his quirk and the quirks of the Gekkeiju members hidden behind the books you can see from the outside, of course. The top of the shelf holds his All Might figures--he couldn’t leave  _ all  _ of his All Might merch at home, even if he’s not quite as big of a fan at this point. He’s also got a little Present Mic, an Eraserhead, a Snipe, a Midnight, and two Thirteens, so he thinks it rounds the shelf out quite nicely, all things considered. He’d meant to order an Ectoplasm too, but they’d been sold out. 

His walls are mostly covered in various hero posters, but he’s also got a tapestry his mom had gotten him, one that shows a forest scene with a big, bright full moon hanging over pine trees coated in silver snow. It’s pretty, and it makes the room look bigger with it hanging over his bed, he thinks. His curtain is a green and black striped blackout curtain, but he has it pushed to the side right now, with the glass door showing his little balcony and a view of the forested part of campus. He doesn’t have much on the balcony, mostly because he hadn’t actually expected them to  _ get  _ one, but he put the metal folding chair he’d brought out there. Izuku hopes it doesn’t rust. 

Just as Izuku’s starting to wonder what he should do now, there’s a knock at his door, quick and light. Izuku stands up, stretching as he crosses the small room to open the door. He blinks when he sees Uraraka, Kaminari, and Hagakure standing outside, bright grins on their faces (or at least on the first two. Izuku doesn’t know about Hagakure). 

“Hey, Deku!” Uraraka says, smiling. “Kaminari had a really good idea, and we wanted to come get you before we started!” She tips her head in Kaminari’s direction, and the boy nods excitedly, his blonde hair swishing with the movement.

“We’re gonna have a room contest!” Kaminari says, and Izuku knows he hears giggles. “You’re first, so...” Kaminari steps aside, revealing much of the class. Not everyone is there, but Izuku can see pretty much all of them save Kacchan and Tsuyu.

“O-Oh,” Izuku says, blinking and stepping aside, standing in front of the door that opens to his closet. He doubts they’ll try to look inside, but better safe than sorry. 

“Whoa, it’s full of hero merch,” Hagakure says, leaning in, the top half of her torso in the room. 

“I’m surprised there isn’t more!” Uraraka says. “Deku has fanboy energy, you know?” Izuku blinks.

“W-What does that mean?” he splutters, just as Ashido nods sagely as she pokes her head in over Kaminari’s shoulder to look inside. 

“He really does, doesn’t he?” Ashido says, laughter in his voice. “He’s a hero fan through and through!”

Kaminari nods. “I bet he would have been with the rest of you if he wasn’t kidnapped,” he says, leaning back to elbow Kirishima, who Izuku hadn’t even seen standing there. “He totally woulda done something stupid like that!” 

Kirishima laughs awkwardly. “I mean, I definitely would have invited him,” he says, rubbing the back of his head. “He’s real close to Bakugou and all.” Izuku blinks.

“I-It was your idea?” he asks, tipping his head to the side and watching as Kirishima’s cheeks color red. 

“I-It wouldn’t have been very manly to just leave you two,” Kirishima says, looking to the side. “Yaomomo had the tracker and everything, and we thought it would lead to at least one of you two, so it just made sense.” He folds his arms over his chest. Izuku blinks, then smiles. 

“I probably would have gone with,” Izuku says, feeling his own face start to flush as Kirishima looks up at him. “T-That kind of reckless thing is sort of my brand at this point, right?” He gives Kirishima a smile, even though he can feel the gazes of his classmates watching the two of them.

“Exactly!” Kaminari says, giving them a thumbs up. “It’s a totally Midoriya thing to do.” He pauses then sighs. “Now I kinda wish I’d gone with y’know? I thought you guys were just joking, not gonna lie.” He looks kind of forlorn, but then Ashido socks him in the arm.

“It was still a dumb idea, dude!” she says, shaking her head. “We’re lucky it turned out as good as it did.” She rolls her eyes, but there’s a fond smile on her face all the same. “Let’s go to Aoyama’s room already. We’ve seen everything there is to see here.” Izuku watches as everyone nods.

“I bet Aoyama’s room glitters,” Uraraka says as people start to pull away from Izuku’s room. Izuku waits until the last person is gone before slipping out of his room and locking it behind him. It clicks softly, and as he moves to go to Aoyama’s room, he’s startled by Todoroki, standing beside him. 

“You’re locking it?” he asks, head tipped to the side so that the white half of his hair falls away from his face. Izuku blinks up at him, suddenly very aware of how much  _ taller _ Todoroki is than him.

“U-Um, yeah!” Izuku replies, swallowing and smiling awkwardly. “I-It’s good to get in the habit, you know?” He slides his keys into his pocket and takes a step away from the door.  _ I would really, really prefer to avoid people seeing what I have hidden in my closet _ , he thinks to himself--the honest answer. 

“Right,” Todoroki replies. His gaze seems to move over Izuku’s face, and Izuku feels his cheeks heating up under the scrutiny. “I think we’re going to Aoyama’s room, next,” he says, looking up and to the side, where the class is already oohing and ahhing at something Izuku can’t quite see.

“R-Right!” Izuku replies, letting Todoroki lead the way. They stand mostly at the edge of the class, but Izuku can see into Aoyama’s dorm well enough.  _ Sparkly... Uraraka was right _ , he thinks. Todoroki hums next to him, low and quiet.

“You would have gone with us to save Bakugou?” Todoroki asks, voice quiet enough that Izuku’s pretty sure he’s the only one that’ll be able to hear. He looks at Todoroki again, sees the curious look on his friend’s face. Izuku nods.

“Y-Yeah, I mean, Kacchan’s my friend,” he says. Todoroki’s brows furrow ever so slightly.

“He gave you a lot of scars for a friend,” Todoroki points out, and Izuku blinks, his gaze flickering to Todoroki’s own scar, red and mottled around his eye.

“He did,” Izuku acknowledges. “But that was a long time ago. And he’s different, now.” 

Todoroki raises an eyebrow. “Last year isn’t a long time ago,” he says, and Izuku frowns. 

“How do you know when it stopped?” he asks before he can stop himself. “I didn’t think I’d given you that much detail.” He stares up at Todoroki, who looks to the side.

“Bakugou told me,” Todorokki mutters. “I don’t think you should forgive him so easily. It seems...” he takes a slow breath. “It seems like you think it was your fault, not his. That it’s somehow acceptable just because he isn’t doing it any more.” Izuku blinks, biting at his lip.

“I... I don’t really want to talk about this, Todoroki,” Izuku admits, softly, and from the way Todoroki glances at him sharply, he thinks it reveals far more than he intended it to. “But for what it’s worth, Kacchan has always meant a lot to me. Whether what happened was my fault or his, he’s still someone I care about.” Izuku looks away from Todoroki, watching as their classmates move from Aoyama’s dorm to the next one. “I think we’re moving,” he says, and Todoroki turns, following his gaze.

“So we are,” Todoroki murmurs, casting a glance back at Izuku as he moves to follow. “I’m sorry,” he says, sighing. “I shouldn’t pressure you, it’s just...”

Izuku nods, stepping forward to keep up with the class. “I know,” he says. “Just... don’t judge Kacchan too harshly, okay? Things really have changed a lot.” He smiles softly, but it feels sad on his face. “I wish he’d talk to me, though.”

Todoroki blinks. “He hasn’t been talking to you?” he echoes, confusion on his face. “Why not?”

Izuku snorts. “I wish I could tell you,” he replies. “Has he been talking to you, then?” He glances up at Todoroki, who nods, the movement short.

“We don’t talk much,” Todoroki replies, “but he always answers my texts, and he’s in the class group chat.” Todoroki’s face twists strangely, and Izuku doesn’t quite know how to interpret it. “Uraraka is adding you to the group chat, isn’t she?” Izuku blinks, pulling out his phone.

“Y-Yeah,” he says, scrolling through his contacts. “She’s added everyone already, but I’m not in any group messages... she must have gotten busy moving in and stuff.” He pauses, hovering over Todoroki’s contact. “My number should still be the same, in case you want to text me.” Izuku looks up from his phone just in time for Todoroki to nod.

“Right,” he says, but he looks lost in thought. Izuku frowns, following Todoroki’s gaze, but the other boy is just staring at the wall. There’s something dark on his face, something that Izuku doesn’t understand.

“Todoroki?” Izuku asks. He wants to reach up and tug on Todoroki’s sleeve, but it doesn’t seem like a good idea right now. “Is everything okay?”

Todoroki blinks, looking back over to him. “I’m fine. I was just thinking about Kamino,” he replies. “When we saw that it was just Bakugou, that you weren’t there, I think we all feared for the worst. And then when you didn’t show up in the aftermath of the fight, when All Might retired and you still weren’t there...” He swallows, and Izuku can see his throat bob with the motion. 

“You thought I was dead,” Izuku finishes for him, voice quiet. It doesn’t really matter, though. At this point, the class is far enough ahead that he doesn’t think they’d hear them anyway, not with how much they’re chattering and laughing about whatever is in Tokoyami’s room. Izuku swallows as he watches Todoroki’s face, mismatched eyes shaded by his split hair as he nods. The motion is sharp, quick.

“I don’t know how much you could see inside the marble,” Todoroki starts, “but at the end, there was a moment... there was a moment when I reached out for you. For both of you. And I missed. I failed you. So whatever happened to you, whatever you went through when you were with the villains, it’s--”

“Don’t,” Izuku interrupts him, voice firm and maybe a little too loud. “Don’t say it was your fault,” he says, gritting his teeth as Todoroki looks at him, his eyes widening just barely. “You didn’t do this. The villains did.” Todoroki swallows again, shaking his head.

“Midoriya, if you’d died--” he starts, but he cuts himself off even before Izuku starts talking.

“Then it still wouldn’t be your fault,” Izuku says, reaching out. He puts a hand on Todoroki’s chest, his palm resting flat against his shirt, warmth soaking through. Izuku can feel Todoroki’s heartbeat, can feel him gasp slightly, but Todoroki doesn’t move.

“What happened, Midoriya?” Todoroki asks, and Izuku can feel the vibrations through his chest, through his sternum and ribs. “What happened to you?” Izuku shakes his head.

“It’s not your fault,” he says. “What I did is my fault, and what the villains did is theirs. You can’t blame yourself.” Izuku feels the warmth of Todoroki, the unnatural warmth. Maybe it’s because his hand is on Todoroki’s left side. Maybe Izuku’s hand is just cold. Either way, it reminds him of Mouse, in a strange way. Fire in the chest, fire in the lungs, in the bones and in the throat. Izuku takes a deep breath.

“I know,” Todoroki says. “I know, but...” He takes a deep breath, reaches a hand up to hold Izuku’s wrist, his fingers cool and gentle. “I still wish I could have done something to help.” His fingers press into Izuku’s skin, still gentle and still soft, but the contact is grounding, soothing. Izuku tries to take a deep breath, but it catches in his throat.

“I-I wish you could have, too,” Izuku says, and his voice cracks, embarrassingly. Todoroki looks down at him, blinks, slow and sure, and then Izuku is being pulled into a hug. It’s strange, because half of Todoroki burns with feverish heat and the other half is chilled, too cold to be a normal person, but his arms are strong where they’re wrapped around Izuku’s back, and Izuku melts into the contact.

“Is this alright?” Todoroki asks, quietly. “I’m not really experienced when it comes to stuff like this,” he says, voice soft, uncertain. Izuku snorts a quiet laugh into his chest.

“I-It’s perfect, Todoroki,” he says, and Todoroki’s hand grips slightly tighter in the back of Izuku’s uniform. They stay like that for a moment, Izuku tucked into Todoroki’s arms, before Todoroki pulls back, gently releasing Izuku. Izuku steps away, glancing up at Todoroki. His friend is watching his face with a fond look, and Izuku smiles up at him.

“Thanks, Todoroki,” he says, and Todoroki smiles, his eyes moving to the side.

“You don’t need to thank me for something as simple as that,” Todoroki says, turning to walk down the hall. “I think our classmates have moved onto the girls’ rooms, from the looks of it.” He gestures to the hall that joins the two wings of the building, and Izuku tips his head, listening. Sure enough , he can hear laughter filtering down the hallway.

“We should probably catch up, then,” Izuku says, and Todoroki nods. Together, they walk quickly, joining their friends once again. 

\--

By the time they’re all gathered in the kitchen, Izuku is exhausted. Fatigue weighs him down, makes him feel weak and unsteady even though he’s sitting on the couch, the soft fabric beneath him warm from his body heat. He’s resting on the edge seat of one of the couches that faces toward the kitchen, and he can see Kacchan and Kirishima arguing as they cook. Tsuyu sits next to him, Uraraka on her other side. Izuku isn’t entirely sure what happened, but a few minutes ago, the two of them and the group that went to rescue Kacchan all went outside. Izuku had tried to follow, but Uraraka had just shook her head, and Izuku hung back.  _ I kind of want to ask what happened, though... I just hope everyone’s okay _ . 

Izuku turns to Tsuyu, remembering that she’d been feeling poorly earlier in the day. “Oh, Tsuyu,” he says, and she turns to look at him, tipping her head slightly. “Are you feeling any better?” She smiles slightly, nodding.

“I am, ribbit,” Tsuyu glances to Uraraka, who nods, giving her a thumbs up. “I was upset about some things, but I spoke with the group that went to save Bakugou, and I’m feeling a lot better.” She tips her head to the side raising a thoughtful finger to her lip. “How about you, Midoriya? You look tired.” Izuku blinks.

“O-Oh, do I?” he responds, shrugging and glancing to the ground. “It’s just been a long day, you know, with the moving in and stuff.” 

“Hmm,” Tsuyu hums. “Well, if that’s the case, make sure you rest well tonight.” Izuku glances up at her, and from the look on her and Uraraka’s face, both heavy with concern, they both know full well that it’s not it. Izuku’s grateful that they’re not pressing him on it.

“Mhm!” Uraraka hums in agreement. “You should take a hot shower and eat something sweet, then go to bed early,” she says, clapping her hands together. “That’s what I do when I’m tired, and it usually works pretty well!” She gives him a bright smile, and Izuku returns it, even if there’s a deep, heavy fatigue settling over him. He’s been tired like this a lot, lately.  _ It could be from using my quirk every day _ , he thinks,  _ but if that’s the case, it’ll get better as I practice more often, won’t it? _

“Hey, Midoriya,” Ashido says, and Izuku glances up, blinking. “Someone’s here to see you.” She’s standing at the door, holding it open, a surprised expression on her face. Izuku tips his head, trying to see past her, but it doesn’t matter. He blinks in surprise as Monoma, wearing a loose white t-shirt and well fitted jeans, walks into the room, his hands in his pockets and a lazy smirk on his face.

“Miss me?” Monoma says as he steps inside, flipping his hair out of his eyes. Izuku blinks, standing up.

“Monoma!” Izuku says, surprised. “What are you doing here?” Izuku starts walking over to him, his bare feet sinking into the soft carpet. Monoma walks over to him as Ashido shuts the door. Izuku can see all of 1-A watching the two of them.

“I came to visit you, of course. Didn’t she just say that?” Monoma says, jerking his thumb back in Ashido’s direction. Izuku blinks.

“Y-Yeah, but--” Izuku swallows, tipping his head to the side. He thinks for a moment, the room eerily silent. “Do--do you want to see my room?” Monoma blinks. 

“Your room?” he echoes, before his face settles, shifting from surprise to his usual smirk. “Sure,” he says, casting a gaze over the room. “I like being the center of attention in most cases, but this is getting a little uncomfortable. Your room should be just fine.” Izuku nods, relaxing a little, but he hears a voice from the kitchen.

“Oi,” Kacchan says, and when Izuku turns, he’s staring at Monoma with narrowed red eyes. “What do you want with Deku?” He takes a step forward, his arms folded over his chest, on top of his balck tank top. Izuku casts a glance to Monoma just in time to see him cock his head to the side, an eyebrow raised. 

“What are you, his guard dog?” Monoma sighs lazily, turning away from Kacchan to face Izuku again. “Midoriya’s my friend. Isn’t that enough of a reason for me to pay him a visit?” Izuku swallows, looking back over at Kacchan.

“Fine,” Kacchan says, clicking his tongue and spinning on his heels to face the stove. Izuku watches Kirishima lay a hand on Kacchan’s shoulder, a worried expression on his face as he says something to Kacchan that Izuku can't quite hear. 

“Shall we?” Monoma says, stepping forward. Most of the class is still staring at them, but Izuku nods, swallowing.

“S-Sure,” he answers, and he turns, walking toward the stairs. “I-I’m on the second floor.” He starts onto the stairs, and Monoma hums behind him.

“Oh, interesting. It looks like all of the buildings have identical layouts, then,” he says, glancing around. “Ours is the same.” 

“That makes sense!” Izuku says, climbing the stairs two at a time. “They built them all so quickly, after all, and they look the same on the outside, so.” Maybe if he moves quickly enough, he’ll be able to chase some of this exhaustion away. 

“Hm, yeah,” Monoma agrees as Izuku steps onto the second floor, glancing back to see Monoma still just behind him. “Did you have any trouble getting your parents to agree to let you come and live here?” He sounds curious, but not too much. Like he’s asking mostly to be polite. Izuku shrugs as he reaches his door, sliding his hand into his pocket and pulling out his keys. 

“My mom took some convincing,” he says, “but I talked her into it. She had a bunch of conditions for Aizawa-sensei and the school, though.”

“Makes sense,” Monoma says. “My parents were difficult to convince. They seemed to think that I was going to do something like Kamino again if they let me stay in the dorm.” He snorts. “I told them I’d be more reckless out of spite if they stopped me, and that seemed to work pretty well.” Izuku slides the key into the lock and turns it, pushing the door to his room open.

“Here we are,” Izuku says, stepping inside and slipping his key back into his pocket. “I-It’s not much, but--”

“Midoriya, we literally live in identical rooms,” Monoma points out, stepping inside. “I’m not going to judge you for your decor.” He pauses, glancing over the room. “Although, you do have a lot of hero merch.” He tugs the door shut behind him, putting his hands on his hips as he keeps looking around. Izuku feels his face flush red under the scrutiny, even though Monoma  _ had _ just said he wasn’t going to judge him. 

“S-So, how have you been?” Izuku asks, turning his gaze to the floor. He flexes and unflexes his toes in the fluffy rug. 

“I’ve been well,” Monoma says, his voice nonchalant. “Are you recovering alright?” Izuku glances up at him, blinks. Monoma is staring at him with a calm expression on his face, and Izuku takes a deep breath.

“I-I’m fine,” Izuku says. “Why don’t we sit down? You can sit on the desk chair, and I’ll sit on my bed,” he says, and Monoma nods, grabbing the desk chair and sitting down in it backwards so that his chest is leaned against the back of it. 

“Killed yourself lately?” Monoma asks, holding his hand up as if examining his nails. Izuku splutters, coughing.

“W-What!?” he asks, shaking his head. “Monoma, you can’t just ask someone that!” Monoma stares back at him, arches an eyebrow.

“But have you?” he asks, dropping his hand so that it’s draped over the back of the chair. He stares at Izuku, face serious. 

“D-Does it matter?” Izuku asks, looking to the side. There’s a piece of ripped cardboard in the corner. He’ll need to sweep in here, soon.  _ Mom told me to pack cleaning supplies... _

Monoma sighs. “Of course it matters, idiot. I’m guessing you have, then,” he says. “Did you have a real reason, like a life or death one, or was it for something stupid, like the sports festival?” Izuku blinks, looking over to him.

“H-How’d you know I used it in the sports festival?” he asks, and Monoma arches an eyebrow at him.

“I rewatched the footage to be sure, but it’s kind of obvious now that I know your quirk. You clearly knew a lot more about each of your opponents than you had any right to.” Monoma shrugs. “Why you’d kill yourself for a school competition is kind of beyond me, but it--” 

“Can we not talk about this?” Izuku says, cutting Monoma off. “Like, can we talk about literally anything  _ but _ this?” He swallows. “I don’t want anyone to overhear,” he adds, but it sounds lame even to his ears. Monoma stares back at him, then shrugs.

“Sure,” he says, blue eyes watching Izuku carefully. “We can talk about something else. Have you heard from Kouta at all?” Izuku blinks, watching a slow smile spread across Monoma’s face.

“Kouta? Is he alright?” Izuku asks, and Monoma nods, reaching into his pockets.

“Yeah, he’s doing great,” he says, pulling out a piece of paper and unfolding it. “He’s been writing to both of us, but since you were missing and stuff, I guess they decided to give it all to me.” Monoma hands the piece of paper to Izuku, and Izuku takes it, staring at the shaky writing. It’s all in kana, and some of the grammar isn’t quite right, but it’s clearly a thank you letter, telling Izuku and Monoma about how they were Kouta’s heroes and how Kouta wanted to be a hero one day so he could be just like them.  _ Thank you for killing Muscular _ , the end of the letter reads.  _ He really, really needed to die. I am glad he is dead now. _ Izuku blinks, looking up at Monoma. 

“He wrote this?” Izuku asks, even though he doesn’t doubt it, not after seeing the handwriting and the childish phrasing. Monoma nods, a fond look on his face.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m glad we saved the little brat. He keeps sending me drawings of Muscular bleeding all over you, but I didn’t think you’d want to see those,” Monoma says, snorting. Izuku grimaces.

“Yeah, no, I think I’m fine...” Izuku says, trailing off and chuckling awkwardly. Monoma sighs, shaking his head.

“Kids,” he says, grinning. “They’re just weird.” 

Izuku nods. “Yeah,” he says, although he’s thinking of Mouse and not Kouta. “Did you hear that one of our class got expelled?” he asks, mostly to change the subject, but Monoma lights up.

“Really? One of 1-A finally got punished for their hubris?” Monoma grins wide, chuckling low under his breath. “Finally. This is what I’ve been waiting for,” he says, and Izuku squints at him.

“H-He was kind of a creep to the girls, so...” Izuku grimaces, and Monoma scowls.

“Good fucking riddance, then,” he says, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. “What, are you all going to just be down a student for the rest of high school, then? Or do you think they’ll transfer one of the gen-ed kids in?” 

Izuku hums under his breath. “Mm, I don’t know,” he tips his head to the side slightly. “I mean, I think that Aizawa-sensei would transfer Shinsou in.” Monoma tips his head slightly, his blonde hair shifting with the movement.

“Shinsou? Purple-haired mind control kid, right?” he asks, and Izuku grimaces, nodding.

“Don’t call him that to his face,” Izuku says. “I think he gets treated pretty badly for his quirk.” He bites at his lower lip, but Monoma just nods, looking thoughtful.

“I should go introduce myself to him at some point,” he says, leaning his elbow on the top edge of the chair and his cheek on the palm of his hand. “Even if he’s going to be 1-A garbage, we’ve both got villain’s quirks, so I’m sure we have plenty in common.” His eyes shift to Izuku. “I wonder how people would have treated you, if you’d known about your quirk from the beginning. It’s powerful, but kind of morbid.”

Izuku blinks. “I-I don’t know,” he replies truthfully. “I mean, i-it’s the kind of quirk people would fight over, you know?” He sighs. “For as much as I hated being quirkless, I... Well. It’s probably for the best I didn’t know until when I found out.”

Monoma nods. “Probably,” he says, then sighs, blue eyes narrowing. “I still wish we could tell Vlad-sensei, though. This whole traitor thing is bad news.”

“I wouldn’t want you to tell him either way,” Izuku says, biting the inside of his cheek. “I mean, the adults wouldn’t--they wouldn’t want me using it on purpose.”

“They wouldn’t want you killing yourself for sport, you mean,” Monoma says, then raises a hand before Izuku can protest. “I know, I know, you don’t want to talk about it. But,” he says, his blue eyes staring into Izuku’s. “You know that you can talk to me about it, right? I’m not going to be your therapist or whatever, but I can be your--” Monoma cuts himself off, clenching his jaw shut, and Izuku blinks, swallowing.

“Friend?” he asks hesitantly, his voice small. “W-We can be friends. If that’s--If it’s okay with you,” he adds. Monoma’s face freezes and then relaxes, softening.

“Friends,” Monoma says, softly, his face shifting into a faint smile. “I can work with that.” 

\--

When Izuku slips out of his dorm room late that night, his head is pounding with a headache and his eyes burn like he’s been staring at a screen for hours. He’d slept until about three in the morning, before his alarm went off, but it doesn’t seem to have been enough.  _ Whatever _ , Izuku thinks as he tiptoes into the common room, his socked feet making little to no sound on the rug. It’s dark and empty down here, and it’s simple for Izuku to sneak to the front door and tug it open, leaving his sneakers behind as he shuts the door behind him.

The night is pleasantly cool compared to the heat of the day, coles to the indoor temperature, in fact, and Izuku loves it as he quickly makes his way down the stairs, ducking into the wooded part of campus. It’s darker under the trees, darker than it ever is in the city Izuku patrols in, but that’s fine. Izuku is only out tonight to see if someone will notice he’s gone, after all. 

As soon as he’s out of sight of the stairs, he pauses, sliding his backpack off of his left shoulder and opening it just enough to pull out a pair of his sneakers. He slides them on quickly, wincing at the way there’s already dirt and pine needles stuck to the fabric of his socks.  _ I’m going to have to clean these off well if I don’t want to give myself away. _

He walks between the trees, watching the brown-black bark of the pines, peeling in thin strips. A few of the trees have wounds that ooze golden sap, tricking in fat, crystalline droplets, and Izuku resists the urge to try to pluck a clump of it from the trees. He’s touched enough tree sap in his lifetime to know that it’s  _ impossible _ to remove from his hands. Instead, he walks deeper into the forest, his backpack sitting heavy on his shoulders. 

It’s louder than he thought it’d be, even after the summer camp. The sound of bugs chirping and of the leaves rustling fills the air as a breeze ripples through the woods, brushing the tall tops of the pine trees from side to side. Izuku tips his head back to see the glittering stars, spread across the sky like tiny crystal fragments. He takes a deep breath, in and out.  _ It must be a new moon _ , he thinks as he stares at the sky for another moment, searching it for the moon. 

Izuku stops in a clearing about two minutes from the dorm building. He’s never been here before, but when he sees the clearing, a place where the grass is exposed to the sky and red-orange wildflowers bob their head in the wind, he knows it’s what he’s been looking for. In the center of the clearing, an old, scarred oak tree stands, the half of it closest to Izuku marred black and broken in a jagged line. As Izuku draws closer, it smells like charcoal, and he can see ash on the ground below. He thinks it must have been hit by lightning. 

There’s a hollow in the tree, one that dips down, and Izuku only hesitates for a moment before taking out his phone and turning on the flashlight, shining it down into the hollow of the tree. It’s empty, thankfully, and Izuku sighs in relief.  _ I didn’t want to put all of my stuff in a squirrel’s nest or something _ , he thinks as he shuts off his phone flashlight and slides his phone back into the pocket of his sweats. He sets his backpack down on the thick, plush grass and unzips it. The yellow fabric looks almost grey in the starlight, and the grass and the tree bark look blueish in tone. It’s beautiful, in a kind of otherworldly way. Izuku thinks he likes it almost as much as the neon brights of the city at night. 

Izuku pulls out a few things--his Ace costume, for one, along with the knives he uses for his vigilante work and an unopened packet of double-edged razors. The boots that took up too much space in his bag come out, too, although after looking over the hollow in the tree, he doesn’t think they’ll fit.  _ I’ll have to just wear them when I leave my room and hope nobody sees them _ , he thinks, frowning as he carefully sets his costume into the hollow. The coal-black of the tree doesn’t seem to transfer to the clothes, and Izuku swipes a finger over it. He stares at the skin, clean as ever. He wonders if it’s rained, since the tree was burned, how long it’s been. 

Izuku thinks as he loads the tree with his supplies. He’s right that his boots don’t fit, so he shoves them back into his backpack.  _ If I want to die _ , he thinks,  _ I could come here.  _ He could also bleed out in his room, of course. It wouldn’t be as warm and as nice as in the bath, and he'd have to deal with the cold that takes over his body as he gets close to death from blood loss, but maybe he could ask his mom to get him a kotatsu. He could say they keep it cold in the building, maybe. 

Izuku could also kill himself in the public bath, but he’d rather not, all things considered. Even if his friends don’t remember, he doesn’t want to risk somebody seeing him and stopping him. Plus, he still dreams about the horrified look on Todoroki’s face, and he  _ definitely _ isn’t over the way Monoma looked at him as they both died. No, he’ll keep it private, if he can.

He could hang a noose in his closet, keep some towels on the floor in there, and use it for wherever he needs to die. If he can keep the blood from spreading too fast, it should limit the smell, and Izuku’s plenty good at dying quietly by now.  _ I think tonight is proof that I can’t go very long without dying _ , he thinks, rubbing at his temple with the palm of one hand as he turns, slinging his backpack over his shoulder as he starts to walk back towards the dorm.  _ I’ll just need to practice using my quirk until it doesn’t hurt me any more. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: nothing new tbh
> 
> [discord!](https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt)
> 
> i hope you all enjoyed!!! this chapter was a lot of fun to write! im excited to get back into the Meat of things though! provisional license exam arc starts next chap :3c


	51. provisional license exam prep, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku finishes moving into the dorms and hangs out with monoma! he also makes a crime tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GAMERS welcome to the next story arc! since this arc is......... complicated, I'm gonna break it up into multiple bits so it doesn't become like 39458304958340598345 parts long. the provisional license exam Prep is first!! i hope you enjoy!!

Izuku clicks and unclicks his pen as he watches the front of the classroom. Aizawa is shuffling around behind his desk, seemingly getting comfortable. The thing is, he's been doing it for the past ten minutes, and even though class isn’t  _ technically  _ supposed to start yet, it’s making Izuku anxious. He clicks and unclicks his pen faster, shifting in his seat, and Aizawa’s eyes slide over to him, staring him down. Izuku freezes, staring back at his teacher with wide eyes, but Aizawa just sighs.

“Alright everyone, settle down,” he says, leaning forward in his seat to rest his elbows on his desk. “As you know, it’s not yet time for the regular second term to start. We’re going to be using the rest of summer berak for you to earn your provisional licenses.” Aizawa pauses, his gaze moving over the class. Izuku can tell that his classmates are buzzing with excitement, but he just kind of feels sick to his stomach. Izuku’s been trying not to think about it, but he knows that--well, he’s read the laws on it in detail. Izuku isn’t sure, but...

“The licensing exam is notoriously difficult,” Aizawa continues, scratching the skin under his scar with his pinkie nail. “Having a license gives you the power to use your quirk to intervene in life or death scenarios, so it’s natural that they want it to be extremely selective.” He sighs. “Only about 5% who take the test pass. So, starting today, you’ll each be coming up with at least two of...” Aizawa trails off, his eyes moving meaningful to the door. A heartbeat later, the door is slammed open, revealing Midnight, Ectoplasm, and Cementoss.

“Your very own special moves!” Midnight finishes with a flourish, flipping her long dark hair over her shoulder. The class erupts into cheers and chatter, but Izuku just lets himself sink further into his chair.  _ Special moves, huh? _ It’s not like the idea doesn’t appeal to him, but...

“Midoriya,” Aizawa says, his gaze catching on Izuku’s face. “Hang back here for a moment. Everyone else, go to the locker rooms and get dressed. We’ll be in Gym Gamma.” His eyes don’t move from Izuku’s face, even as he addresses the entire class, and Izuku hates it. 

Izuku just nods, then looks down at the wooden surface of his desk, at his arms resting there. He’s wearing his winter uniform, still, and he knows that Aizawa’s picked up on that, but Izuku kind of  _ wishes _ that that was what this was about. No, Izuku doesn’t think that this is about his... habits. As his classmates filter out of the floor, talking happily and excitedly about what they’re going to do, what they’re going to try, Izuku squeezes his hands into fists, digs his nails into the meat of his palms.  _ What special move could I come up with, without a quirk? There’s no point in this exercise for me. _

“Midoriya?” Todoroki’s voice startles Izuku out of thought, and he looks up to see Todoroki hovering over his desk, one hand outstretched like he wants to set it over Izuku’s clenched fist. He pulls his hand back, setting it down palm first on the desk’s surface instead, his fingers less than an inch from Izuku’s hand.

“Todoroki? Is everything okay?” Izuku asks, glancing up at him. Todoroki’s face is calm.

“Yes. I just wanted to make sure you were alright,” Todoroki says, his gaze meeting Izuku’s. “You looked upset.” Todoroki glances to the side. “Sorry if I’m overstepping,” he says, but Izuku blinks, shaking his head.

“N-No, not at all!” Izuku says, raising his hands and smiling at Todoroki. “I’m fine, but thank you for asking. I’m just still waking up is all.” He gives Todoroki one of his best smiles, but Todoroki just stares back at him, blinking once.

“If you’re sure,” he says, his gaze raking over Izuku. Izuku blinks, then nods.

“I-I’m sure,” he says, and Todoroki seems to relax ever so slightly.

“I’ll see you in the gym, then,” Todoroki says, giving Izuku a soft smile before he turns and heads out of the classroom. Izuku takes a deep breath, listening to the sounds of Todoroki’s footsteps growing faint as he moves down the hallway. He takes another deep breath before he turns and looks at Aizawa where his teacher is still sitting behind his desk.

“You and Todoroki are getting along well,” Aizawa comments, and Izuku nods, hesitantly.

“Y-Yeah, we’re friends,” he says, and Aizawa nods. 

“I can see that.” Aizawa sighs, sliding off of his chair and walking around his desk, moving closer to Izuku. “Judging by the look on your face, I’m guessing you already know what this is about.” He slides into the desk beside Izuku’s, sitting in it sideways so that he’s facing him. 

“T-The provisional license,” Izuku says, then stops. He doesn’t want to say it, not if he doesn’t have to. Aizawa nods, his face serious.

“I’m sure you’re already aware, but there’s no need for you to attempt the licensing exam in the first place. The license is specifically aimed at legalizing quirk usage in the field, and since you don’t have a quirk to legalize in the first place, you won’t have to take the exam at all.” Aizawa leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re welcome to train with the class, then train with Shinsou while they’re taking the test, since it wouldn’t make sense for you to do nothing until the second term.” Aizawa’s eyes move over Izuku’s face. “But something tells me that’s not enough for you, is it?”

Izuku swallows. “I-I want to take the provisional license exam anyway,” he says. “I might not  _ need  _ it, but it’d be good experience, right?” He gives Aizawa a hopeful smile, watching as his teacher leans back, lifting his elbows from his knees so he’s sitting up straight.

“It would be,” Aizawa says, “which is why I’ve already asked the Hero Commission about it, and they were pretty clear in their answer. They don’t want a quirkless student taking the spot of a student who needs the license to work.” Aizawa’s face doesn’t move, but Izuku can hear the irritation in his tone, and it brings something warm to his chest that Aizawa is frustrated, too.  _ At least I have one person on my side when it comes to this _ , he thinks. 

“Are the spots that limited?” Izuku asks, voice quiet. Aizawa shakes his head in a small motion, barely moving at all.

“No, not really.” Aizawa stares back at him, unblinking. “Unfortunately, you’re going to have to face a lot of discrimination in your path to becoming a hero,” he says with a sigh, his eyes half lidded. “Nezu and I are working on convincing the Commission, but in the meantime, I’d like you to prepare for the exam alongside your classmates.” 

“Do you think I’ll be allowed to take it?” Izuku asks him, biting at his lower lip. Aizawa stares back at him.

“I don’t know,” Aizawa says. “It can’t help to have you prepared, either way. Which brings me to the next topic. Have you thought at all about your special moves?”

Izuku blinks. “I-I, uh, didn’t really think I could  _ have _ special moves,” he says, honestly. Aizawa nods. 

“Because you’re quirkless?” he asks, his eyes narrowing. “What kind of a special move do you think I have?” he asks, arching an eyebrow. “What about someone like Nezu, with an intelligence quirk?” Izuku blinks, his mouth opening a tiny bit, but Aizawa continues. “You’re good at analysis. Analyze your other abilities, not your quirklessness. Build yourself a special move based on where your strengths lie.” Aizawa meets his gaze, steady. “Understood?”

Izuku nods, quickly. “Y-Yes sir!” he says. Aizawa stands up from the chair, stretching. Izuku can hear his joints popping as he does.

“Good,” he says, yawning. “Go get dressed, then. I’ll be over in a minute.” He moves a strand of dark hair out of his face, and Izuku nods again, standing up from his chair.

“Thanks, Aizawa-sensei!” he says, turning to head out of the classroom. His head is already spinning, mind full of ideas bouncing around.  _ Where my strengths lie, huh? I can work with that. _

\--

Izuku’s dorm room is quickly becoming his safe place in a way that his bedroom at home never was. It’s not that he  _ didn’t _ feel safe at home--because he did--but there’s something special about this room, where he can lock himself in and shut the curtains and have complete privacy. It’s dark in the room right now, with the sun having set a few hours ago and his lamp on the lowest setting, casting a thin yellow light over the green rug and the edges of his bed but failing to reach most of the room. Izuku’s only been here for three days at this point, but he’s already fallen into an easy routine, gotten comfortable with the space and his classmates. He also hasn’t cut or killed himself in those three days, and he really doesn’t think he can wait any longer.

The funny thing is that tonight, it’s not like Izuku has a specific reason. Nothing went wrong during the day--they just worked on some rescue basics and went over some of the rules for the dorms. Stuff like keeping the space somewhat clean and letting Aizawa know if they were running low on anything. Aizawa’d told them about the new medical staff coming to UA next week, too, but Izuku already knew about that from his mom, so it wasn’t much of a surprise. He’s still waiting for the inevitable announcement about the mandatory therapy his mom had asked Aizawa for, but so far, it hasn’t come up. 

Maybe if they’d done something particularly stressful, like work on special moves (Izuku still hasn’t come up with any good ideas for his. Lots of bad ideas, though.) or talked about the summer camp in detail (people bring it up, but only in passing. Nobody asks about it seriously), Izuku could understand why he was so upset. But all in all, it’d been a good day, really. 

Uraraka had added him to the group chat, which seems to be composed almost entirely of Kacchan’s friends sending memes and complaining about schoolwork. Izuku hasn’t sent much there, yet, just a message saying hi, but even being included in the first place feels nice. He hadn’t really wanted to be in the group chat at first, since he isn’t much of a texting person, but it’s fun to read through when he’s not doing anything else. 

_ Maybe that’s it _ , Izuku thinks to himself. If they had normal classes and homework right now, he’d have less time to think, surely. Less time to be painfully aware of the fact that it’s been  _ so long _ since he last got to kill himself, since he last took a blade to his skin. Realistically, Izuku knows he was at the Gekkeiju base for longer, that he’s gone much longer without in the past, but these past three days feel like an eternity. The scars on his arms have started to turn from a red color to a silvery one, too, and even though Izuku knows it’s because he’s only been cutting before resetting and not because he’s actually stopped, it brings up an ugly feeling deep in his stomach. Izuku doesn’t  _ like _ the scars, but he also really, really doesn’t want them to fade. It doesn’t make any sense.

So, Izuku is sitting in the dark in his dorm room, an open packet of gauze sitting on his lap, bright white even in the dim light. He’s got a razor, one of the thin, bendy kinds you get as refills for really fancy razors, and he’s wearing a short sleeved shirt, a plain black one he hasn’t worn in months. It smells like his drawers at home. Izuku’s skin looks pale in the dim light, the weak yellow glow from his lamp over on his desk. Izuku sets the razor on his skin of his upper arm, draws a thin red line.

How many times did he even die, at the summer camp and the Gekkeiju base? Izuku doesn’t even know. He watches blood bead in the cut, watches it threaten to run down his arm and onto his bedspread or his shorts. He mops up the blood with the gauze, then takes a breath.  _ That one’s for when Monoma and I left the first time, when we died together. _ He swipes another cut, this one deeper.  _ That’s for when it was just me, when my chest was destroyed. _ Izuku cuts again, his skin unzipping easily to show something white and uneven underneath.  _ When I died the first time, at the Gekkeiju base, from Manami _ . Two more little ones, then a big one, deep and bloody and longer than he’d usually make.  _ Sasaki killed me twice, and I died to Mouse once _ . 

Izuku stares down at his arm. The red blood looks nearly black in the dim light as it runs down his skin, sticky and iron-scented, but Izuku feels better. Clean, empty. He presses the gauze to the six cuts on his upper arm.  _ Six cuts, for six deaths _ . 

Izuku leans back until his head knocks against the wall behind him, not loud enough to wake anyone else up, but enough of an impact that Izuku can feel it. His back is pressed into his bed, his arms sort of crossed over his chest as he puts pressure on his cuts so they’ll stop bleeding. They sting, but the pain feels more cold, like an ice cube pressed onto his skin. Izuku holds on to that feeling, lets it sink into his bones.  _ This weekend, I’ll get my closet set up to die _ , he thinks to himself.  _ That way, I won’t have to do it this way again _ .

Izuku curls into the corner where his bed meets the wall and presses his razor into his neck, slicing quickly. The blade cuts easily through his skin, and just like the many nights before this, he feels that dizzying pull, tugging him backward, into something dark.

\--

It’s a rainy, humid afternoon that finds Izuku standing in the field between Gym Gamma and the woods. Izuku’s in his sports uniform, the long sleeved one, even though he supposes Aizawa already knows about his arms. He doesn’t want Shinsou to see, either way, so he doesn’t have much of a choice. The light rain that drizzles softly from the grey sky makes the fabric stick to his skin, though, and it annoys Izuku.  _ At least I don’t leave open cuts any more _ , he thinks to himself.  _ They’d definitely start leaking blood again with my shirt all wet like this, and that’d be hard to explain.  _ Especially considering that Aizawa hasn’t shown up yet, so it’s just him and Shinsou on the field.

“Hey, Shinsou!” Izuku says, giving the boy a smile. Shinsou stares back at him, seemingly unimpressed. “Long time no see!”

“Yeah,” Shinsou says, turning his gaze away from Izuku, looking out at the forest. “It has been.” Izuku takes a small breath, pushing down the anxiety.  _ Shinsou’s just like this. It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk to me _ . 

“How have you been?” Izuku asks, and Shinsou shrugs. 

“Same as ever,” he replies, resting one hand on his hip. “Is Aizawa going to show up, or did he forget about us?” Shinsou asks, sounding annoyed. “I have stuff to do.”

Izuku blinks. “I-I’m sure he’s on his way,” he says. “What do you have to do?” Izuku asks, swallowing as Shinsou glances over at him, one eyebrow raised “I-I mean, you don’t have to tell me, I’m just wondering,” Izuku continues, and Shinsou sighs. The bags under his eyes look darker than normal.

“If I can get my provisional license, they’re supposedly moving me into the hero course second term,” Shinsou says, bitterness in his voice. “It’s got an abysmal pass rate, and I don’t have any of the training you hero course kids have for it, though, so it’s not like I stand a chance.” He snorts under his breath, a dark look on his face. “It’s just a way of pretending that they’re really considering moving me up, to make Aizawa stop complaining about it.” 

“At least they’re letting you take it,” Izuku mutters, and Shinsou’s head snaps over to look at him. Izuku feels his face flush red, and he swallows, wishing he hadn’t blurted that out. 

“They aren’t even letting you take it?” Shinsou asks. “Why the hell not?” He looks offended, more than surprised. 

Izuku sighs, kicking at the ground. “I’m quirkless, so they don’t want me using up a spot for someone who might actually need the license,” he says. The ground is so soft that his shoe tears a clump of grass right out, exposing dark, damp earth. “Technically I don’t need the license, but it’s not like I could get a work-study or a job without one, so.” He swallows. “I guess it’s just how they’re going to keep the quirkless kid from becoming a hero.” 

Shinsou huffs. “As if Aizawa will let them get away with that,” he says, and Izuku looks up to see him staring back at Izuku with an unimpressed look. “They’ll have to let you take it, but they might not pass you,” he says. “That’s what they’re going to do with me, I’m sure.” 

“Because of your quirk?” Izuku asks, and Shinsou nods. 

“Why else?” he says, then turns his head slightly. “He’s here.” Izuku blinks, following Shinsou’s gaze to see Aizawa approaching them, capture scarf wound around his neck on top of a black fitted t-shirt and a pair of long pants. Behind him, three students follow, all three wearing sports uniforms. 

One of them walks ahead of the other two, a thin girl with short, dark hair that curls around her ears, and her dark crimson eyes watch Izuku, a smirk on her face. She glances back at the other two, who are nearly identical as they walk side by side. Both of them have fine, light grey hair that matches the fur that covers their cat ears and tan, smooth skin and whiskers that sprout from the skin near their mouths, but one of them is wearing her shoulder length hair down in a neat bob. The other has his hair tied back in a low ponytail, and Izuku can see that his hair is longer than his sister’s (or so Izuku assumes), reaching almost to his hips. Aside from their hair and their genders, the only difference Izuku can see is that the girl has bright, neon pink eyes, while her brother’s are a deep, dark blue. Izuku sees tails swishing behind each of them.

“Oi, ‘Zawa,” the first girl, with the dark hair and the red eyes says, raising an eyebrow. “These look too young to be first years.” Her gaze rakes over Izuku, cold and judgemental. Izuku feels a shiver run up his spine.

“Aw, don’t be mean!” the catgirl says, putting a hand on the other girl’s shoulder. “It looks like we kept them waiting out in the rain. We should at least be nice! Plus, aren’t you their age?” She tips her head to the side slightly, grinning just wide enough to show that her teeth are like a cat’s, too. 

“They’re first years,” Aizawa says, sighing and shutting his eyes for just a moment before opening them again. “Shinsou, Midoriya, these three,” he jerks a thumb back to point at them, “are second years. I taught Maka and Ema.” He drops his hand, sliding it into his pocket. “They’re going to help you with training. If you just spar against each other and me all the time, you’re going to grow accustomed to fighting the same people. They’ve each got their own skill set, too, so it’ll be a good experience for you.” As soon as Aizawa finishes speaking, the girl with the cat ears steps forward, standing beside the red-eyed girl, and she bows, folding over at the waist. 

“Ema Kojima! It’s a pleasure to meet the both of you!” She straightens up, giving them a wide grin and a peace sign. “Just call me Ema, though. It’ll get confusing otherwise! Oh, and my hero name is Neon!” Izuku blinks, then returns the smile.

“I-I’m Izuku Midoriya,” he says, “and my hero name is Deku!” He bows to her, ever so slightly, and she nods quickly, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Deku! That’s so cute, I love it,” Ema says, nodding. Her gaze shifts to Shinsou, and he narrows his eyes ever so slightly.

“Hitoshi Shinsou,” he says. “I don’t have a hero name yet.” 

“Because you’re not in the heroics course, right?” the other girl says, arching an eyebrow. “Seems shortsighted to me.” 

“Seems like it’s none of your business,” Shinsou drawls back at her, glaring. She just shrugs.

“Maybe. I’m Maka Ishida, although if you call me Ishida, I’ll make you regret it.” Maka folds her arms over her chest, tipping her head back to stare down at Shinsou even though she’s the same height as him. “It’s either Maka or Mars to you.” 

“Like the planet?” Izuku asks, tipping his head to the side. Maka looks to him, eyes narrowing in a glare. 

“No,” she says, “like the Roman god of war. Did you fail history?” She rolls her eyes, the movement exaggerated, and even though Izuku knows plenty of people who act that way, there’s something about her that sends a shiver down his spine. Izuku takes a small step back, ignoring the way Shinsou looks at him out of the corner of his eyes.

“Um,” the last student says, stepping to the side so he’s no longer behind Maka and Ema. “I’m Haruta. I’m in general studies, class 2-D.” Haruta tips his head down in a slight bow, his eyes trained on the ground. “Nice to meet you, Shinsou, Midoriya.” 

Aizawa clears his throat. “Now that you’re all acquainted,” he says, straightening his scarf with one hand, “I’ll leave you two it. By the time I come back in two hours, I want you two,” he points at Shinsou and Midoriya, “to be able to tell me why I’d have you train with these three. Other than that, I don’t really care what you do.” 

“Hmph,” Maka hums, tilting her head to the side. “So I can do whatever I want?” 

“No,” Aizawa says quickly. “You can’t. If I come back and anyone is seriously injured, I’ll speak with your homeroom teacher and get you detention for the rest of your life. Is that clear?” he asks, turning to face Maka. She rolls her eyes.

“Crystal,” she says, puffing out her cheeks. “You know I’d never hurt children, Aizawa.”

“Aizawa- _ sensei _ ,” Aizawa corrects, raising an eyebrow at her. Maka shrugs.

“You’re not my teacher anymore,” she says, a slight grin on her face. Aizawa grunts, sounding annoyed, but he just turns and starts to walk away from the five of them.

“Two hours,” he calls as he leaves, and Izuku stares after him for a moment before turning his gaze to look at the second years. Ema is watching him and Shinsou, her hands folded behind her back and a curious look on her face. Haruta is still hanging back, staring at the ground, and Maka turns to look at them, something dark gleaming in her eyes.

“Alright, then,” she says. “I’m going into the gym. It’s nasty out here,” Maka gestures at the rain, then turns on her heels and starts off toward the gym’s side door. Izuku blinks, stepping forward when Ema starts to follow after her. As they walk through the wet grass and step up onto the concrete sidewalk, Ema turns back to look at him, her cat ears twitching. 

“He didn’t tell you two why we’re here, did he?” she asks, smiling. “We had an assignment to find kids to tutor, and Maka-chan insisted that we teach sensei’s new class! Our teacher thought it was totally hilarious, so he let us get away with it, even though it was supposed to be like, actual kids.” she giggles, her eyes shutting with the width of her smile. “Like, elementary schoolers! But inside of babysitting, we’re gonna show you two some neat stuff, so we really got the best deal possible, I think.”

Izuku blinks. “This is for a school assignment?” he asks, and Ema nods.

“Mhmm! Technically it’s just me and Maka-chan, but Haruta and I do pretty much everything together, so he’s here of course.” She puts a hand up to her mouth and stage whispers conspiratorially. “We’re twins, you know.” 

Shinsou snorts. “Wow, really?” he says, rolling his eyes. 

“Ema, stop looking backwards,” Maka snaps as she pulls the door to the gym open. “You’re going to run into something.” 

“I can tell where I’m going!” Ema protests, but she turns her head to face forward, anyway. She and Maka disappear into the gym, and as Haruta follows them, Izuku swallows, casting a glance at Shinsou. Shinsou returns the look.

“Aizawa really left us with the weird ones, didn’t he?” Shinsou remarks, his tone dry. Izuku nods, biting at his lip. The air smells strange, like something sweet but also not at all. Izuku isn’t sure if he likes it or not. 

“Yeah,” Izuku answers, voice almost a whisper as he steps into the gym. It’s about as bright inside as out, maybe even more so with the bright lights, but the lighting is warmer, more yellow. Izuku blinks, feeling something strange take hold in his chest. He thinks he can smell baking bread for a moment, but then it smells like rotting meat, and then nothing. He narrows his eyes, glancing around the room.

“Does...” he swallows, feeling his heartbeat pick up. “Is one of you using a quirk?” Izuku asks, looking at the three third years. They all turn back to look at him, Ema and Haruta with curious expressions. Maka’s eyes widen slightly, and she tips her head to the side.

“Oh, you noticed really fast,” she says. “I didn’t think you were that smart, to be honest.” Izuku blinks as she turns to face him completely, folding her arms over her chest. “My quirk can’t be turned off, so yeah, I’m using it.” She arches an eyebrow. “Try and guess what you think it does.”

Izuku blinks. “I-It’s releasing a smell,” he starts, speaking slowly as he thinks. “So it’s probably something like Midnight-sensei’s, right? But I’m not feeling sleepy, just... uneasy.” Izuku bites at his lower lip. “Is that what it does?”

Maka nods. “Pretty much. I’ll let you experience most of it yourself, but my quirk is called Pheromones. My sweat contains pheromones that make most people feel intimidated or afraid. The exact effect varies by who smells it, though.” She glances over to Ema, who snickers, then giggles. “Shut up, Em.” 

Ema shrugs, still laughing under her breath. “It’s really funny, though!” she whines, grinning. She glances to Izuku and Shinsou. “Maka-chan’s quirk tends to effect people with mutation type quirks way differently than it would normal people. To me and Haruta she smells really, really nice!” 

“That’s one way to put it,” Haruta mumbles, his face coloring a slight red. Maka reaches a hand out and swats the tips of Ema’s ears.

“What part of ‘shut up’ was confusing to you?” Maka asks, rolling her eyes. “Let’s stop talking about me and start hitting each other or something.” Ema nods, then turns to Izuku and Shinsou.

“How do you guys wanna do this? Should we pair off?” she tips her head back at her brother. “Haruta doesn’t fight much, so he could sit out. He’s aiming to be a medic.” Izuku blinks, then glances at Shinsou.

“Does that--” he starts, but Maka cuts him off.

“Let’s do two versus two,” she says, eyeing him. “I wanna see how they work together.” She takes a step toward them, cracking her knuckles. “No weapons, though. And no teeth. I’ve seen footage of you, knife boy. I’m not interested in bleeding, thanks.” 

Izuku blinks. “K-Knife boy?” he echoes, and Shinsou sighs beside him. Izuku looks over to see him rolling his eyes.

“Can we just get started?” he asks, his half lidded eyes resting on Maka. “I really don’t care about your life stories or whatever.” Izuku watches as Maka raises an eyebrow, then grins, slow and sure. Her teeth gleam white in the light.

Izuku expects Maka to say something, to reply to Shinsou, but instead, Izuku blinks and she isn’t there any more. She’s between Izuku and Shinsou, her hands in half-closed fists as she twists, throwing a punch that Shinsou doesn't even seem to see coming. It contacts with the side of his ribcage, and Shinsou steps back with a grunt. Maka takes a step away from him, backing into Izuku, and Izuku feels his heart jump into his throat, adrenaline filling him as he breathes in the air coming off of her.

“Sorry, guys,” she says. “‘Zawa told us about your quirks in advance. I’m not going to fall for something that easy.” She turns, throwing an elbow strike at Izuku, and Izuku knows he has to dodge or block, but the way his head is filled with thick fear, with a primal sense of  _ danger _ makes it hard for him to move. His hands are shaking when he gets them up to block, and it’s a lot weaker than usual. He manages to shove her elbow out of the way, but she doesn’t seem fazed.

“I guess we’re getting started, then,” Shinsou says, and Izuku’s trained with him enough to know to step back. Shinsou throws a quick kick aimed at Maka’s head, but she ducks below it easily.

“Ema!” she calls, tipping her head back. “I’m bored.” 

“Should I fight on their side, then?” Ema asks, laughter in her voice. “Wouldn’t that be kind of unfair?”

Maka rolls her eyes, and Izuku takes the opportunity to slide in, sweeping at her legs and throwing an open-palm strike at the center of her chest. Maka blocks the palm strike easily, but Izuku gets her legs, knocking her feet out from under her and sending her to the ground. She lands on her ass, blinking up at Izuku. Her eyes narrow.

“Oh, no,” she says, a grin growing on her face. “You’re going to keep count of our points. A body hit is one, head hit is two, bringing them to the ground is three.” She hops to her feet, slipping into a fighting stance that looks too much like Aizawa’s to be a coincidence. “This is going to be a lot of fun,” she says, and Izuku swallows.

“So that’s three points for me and Shinsou?” he asks, and Maka looks over to him, eyes half lidded.

“Sure,” she agrees, nodding. “You’d better savor your lead. It won’t last long,” she says as she slides forward, throwing a kick series of kicks at Izuku. Izuku bites at his lip as he dodges out of the way of them, moving to the side and forward. 

_ This is going to be interesting _ , he thinks as he makes eye contact with Shinsou across the room. From the look on Shinsou’s face, he agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: graphic self harm
> 
> [discord!](https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt)
> 
> i may be adding more ocs. but i PROMISE i have a reason. i swear. it's not just that i love ocs. it's definitely a little bit of that but that's not the only reason
> 
> thank you for all the support!!!! also, thank you all for your kind words about my safety and stuff!! i know i mentioned a bonus chap/oneshot but idk if that's in the cards in the next few days just bc im gonna have to get back to college and stuff and clean my dorm and all that. i really appreciate the patience!!! you all are so nice to me <3


	52. provisional license exam prep, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku starts provisional license exam prep, learns he isn't allowed to take the exam, and meets ema, haruta, and maka, three 2nd years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi gamers here's an extra long chapter that i think sucks major balls but i don't want to look at it any more

Izuku tries to catch his breath, the foam mat feeling cool underneath him as he lies face-up on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. His face is covered in fast-cooling sweat as he gasps for air, and beside him, Shinsou is in much the same condition. The room is filled with a thick scent of something like baking bread or rotting meat, and Izuku feels his body fill with adrenaline each time he breathes in, even though Maka is across the gym from them, lying on the floor in much the same condition. Ema is standing next to her, and Izuku hears her giggle before she leans over Maka.

“You guys are all worn out already, and it hasn’t been two hours!” Ema says, nudging Maka with her foot. “I thought you told me before that you were gonna try and avoid getting sweaty?”

“Shut... up.” Maka gasps out, and Izuku can see her swat Ema’s leg. “They’re handling it just fine.” 

“After a certain point, it just feels like I had too much caffeine,” Shinsou remarks from beside Izuku, and Izuku turns his head to see Shinsou looking at him. 

“Really?” Izuku asks, still catching his breath. “For me it...it still feels kind of...”

“Scary?” Maka finishes for him as he trails off. “Olfactory fatigue helps some, but unfortunately there’s not much I can do short of taking a shower. Sounds like Shinsou’s one of the lucky ones who doesn’t have as much of a reaction.” She huffs out a breath. “Still, you two stay over there. I really don’t want to have to deal with you crying or something like that.” She waves a hand that Izuku can see from his position on the floor, but Izuku wouldn’t be moving closer on his own, anyway. After getting used to it, her quirk isn’t  _ too _ bad, but feeling on edge and full of adrenaline all the time, like he’s being watched or like his brain thinks there’s a gun pointed at him, is kind of unpleasant all the same. 

“What are we gonna do for the next...” Ema glances up, and Izuku follows her gaze to see the clock. “Forty five minutes?” she finishes, sighing. 

“Hm,” Maka hums, still on the floor. “You two are preparing for your provisional license exams, right?” 

“Y-Yeah,” Izuku answers. He swallows, then pulls himself up, into a sitting position. Beside him, Shinsou does the same.

“Well,” Ema says, smiling at them, “Maka-chan’s the perfect person to give you advice, then!” Ema giggles. “She failed it twice before she finally got hers!” Maka makes a choking sound, shooting up into a sitting position, and Izuku watches her swat at Ema’s leg, her face going bright red.

“Ema!” she says, voice high pitched. “Don’t tell them that, what the fuck!” Izuku blinks as Ema shrugs, nudging the outside of Maka’s thigh with her foot.

“What? It’s true, isn’t it?” Ema says, shrugging. “You should tell them about it.” She glances across the room, to where Haruta is sitting on a bench and playing on his phone. “Right, Haru?” 

Haruta glances up, blinking. “Oh, um.” He swallows. “Yeah. Sure.” 

Maka snorts. “He wasn’t even listening,” she says, rolling her eyes. Her gaze settles on Izuku and Shinsou. “Fine.” she sighs, pulling her knees up and draping one arm over them. “Yeah, I failed twice. My quirk is ‘poorly suited,’” she makes air quotes with one hand, “to rescue missions.” She sighs. “I’m sure you can see why.”

Izuku blinks. “Poorly suited?” he says, tipping his head to the side. “They turned you down because of your quirk?” It doesn’t surprise Izuku, but he hadn’t thought of it himself. It makes sense, though; he can’t imagine that a scared civilian would react well to the effects of Maka’s quirk. 

“Her attitude probably didn’t help,” Shinsou mutters beside Izuku, barely audible. Izuku sees Ema’s ears twitch though, and she rolls her eyes, a smile on her face.

“Maka-chan can be nice when she wants to be, you know,” Ema says. Maka glances up at her.

“Wait, what did he say?” she asks, narrowing her eyes. Ema shrugs. 

“That’s my quirk, by the way,” Ema says, turning to look at Izuku and Shinsou again. “Wild Senses! All of my five senses are a lot stronger than most people’s.” She gives them both a bright smile. “I’m pretty sure if I wasn’t a mutant type too, I’d be terrified of Maka-chan!” 

Shinsou tips his head to the side, arching an eyebrow. “Aizawa said that none of you had quirks that help with combat,” he says. Izuku blinks, then nods.

“Wouldn’t enhanced senses help a lot with fighting?” Izuku asks, and Ema nods, her bright pink eyes gleaming.

“They do!” Ema answers, licking her bottom lip. “Now that I know how to use them, anyway. Before UA and Aizawa-sensei, I was pretty much useless in a fight.” She laughs, rubbing the back of her head with one hand. “All my quirk did for me was overwhelm and distract me the second things got loud or bright or complicated. I only passed the entrance exam because of the rescue points!” She gives them an embarrassed smile. 

“What’s Haruta-senpai’s quirk, then?” Izuku asks before he can talk himself out of it. “If you two were identical twins, it’d have to be the same, but you’re not, so--”

“We are,” Haruta says, and Izuku blinks, looking over at him. “I’m trans.” Haruta shrugs, biting at his lower lip. “And our quirks are different.” Izuku watches as he twists his hands together in his lap, looking to the side with deep blue eyes.

“Your eyes are different colors,” Shinsou points out. “You can’t be identical.”

Ema laughs. “Oh, these are colored contacts!” she says, pointing at her eyes. “I don’t think  _ anyone _ naturally has neon pink eyes.” Izuku wonders about that. He’s certainly seen neon  _ green. _ Haruta’s head whips around to look at Izuku, and he blinks, quickly, frowning. Izuku stares back at him, feeling vaguely unsettled.

“Quirks are influenced by environment, too, not just genetics,” Maka says, yawning. “Jeez, have you guys not had  _ any _ biology classes yet?” 

“We actually haven’t,” Izuku says, absentmindedly. “What’s your quirk, Haruta-senpai?” Haruta stares back at him, lips pressing into a thin line.

“Wild Empathy,” he replies, glancing away from Izuku, at the ground. “I can sense the thoughts and emotions of people close by.” Izuku blinks.

Shinsou snorts. “Mind reading, huh?” Haruta shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest. Izuku watches him, feeling his heart pound with fear that isn’t from Maka’s quirk.

“Not exactly, but yeah.” He sighs, blowing out a breath of air. “I can’t turn it off, but I can redirect it. I usually just focus on Ema’s thoughts so that all I get from other people is any really strong emotions.” His gaze moves over to Izuku just as Izuku swallows down the anxiety rising in his throat.

“They’re essentially the same quirk,” Maka says, wiping some of the sweat off of her forehead with the back of her arm. “Just different editions. While my quirk is cool and unique and has absolutely zero downsides,” she says, completely deadpan. 

“What did you use for your special move?” Izuku asks, forcing himself to think only about the provisional license exam.  _ I can’t think about this now. Not with someone who can read minds here. _ He focuses on Maka’s quirk. She could use something similar to Kacchan’s gauntlets to build up sweat, but he isn’t sure how useful that would be. Izuku can’t think about Haruta’s quirk. He needs to stay focused on the conversation.

Maka glances over to him, crimson eyes half-lidded. “What would you do, if you had my quirk?” she asks, unwrapping her arm from her knees and moving it behind her, leaning on it. Izuku blinks, thinking.

“You could... use your sweat to temporarily incapacitate someone, right?” Izuku asks, and Maka nods.

“Yeah,” she says. “That was my first idea, too. The problem is, not everybody responds to my pheromones the same way. Against someone like her,” Maka gestures to Ema, who gives Izuku a peace sign and a wink, “it’d be completely useless. It also doesn’t incapacitate people who are used to working with a lot of fear, or who are resistant to it for some reason.” She meets Izuku’s gaze. “Try again.”

Izuku blinks, biting at his lower lip. “Um...” he trails off, glancing to Shinsou, who shrugs. “Do you use any weapons?” he asks, remembering his knives and Shinsou’s capture scarf. Maka’s lips quirk up in a small smirk.

“I do,” she says, tipping her head to the side slightly. “I use brass knuckles and a staff in real fights.” Her narrowed eyes watch him from behind long, dark eyelashes. “Keep going.”

Izuku swallows. “P-People fight worse, when they have an adrenaline rush,” he says, and Maka nods as he speaks. “It makes you stronger, but shakier and less controlled. So, you could use that to your advantage, right?” 

“Right,” Maka says. “My quirk is also generally a little disorienting. So, one of my special moves works with that.” She takes a deep breath, then hops to her feet, rolling her shoulders. “Ema,” she says, turning to face Ema and taking a step back into a fighting stance. Ema perks up, then mirrors her, moving into her own fighting position. 

“Ema is basically immune to my quirk, so this isn’t a great demonstration, but it’s something,” Maka says, stepping forward and throwing a neat punch at Ema. Ema blocks it easily, pushing it aside with her forearm and stepping back to maintain their distance. Izuku can tell from the way they move that they’ve fought together countless times.

“I fight at a little bit slower of a speed than I normally would, first,” Maka says, sliding back and then turning and twisting to throw a back kick. Ema dodges to the side, only for Maka to use her momentum to throw a punch that taps Ema on the shoulder. 

“Then, I do this,” Maka says, and she tugs at the collar of her sports uniform, pulling it away from her skin. Even at this distance, Izuku can feel the wave of her quirk washing over him, spreading dread through his body and making his hair stand on end. “My sports uniform is modified so that I don’t gas the entire class every time we work out, and my costume has a similar function so I don’t spook civilians nearly as bad. I can use that to release more of my quirk all at once, too.” 

She jerks forward, spinning on her heels and throwing an elbow strike at Ema, moving far faster than she had before. Izuku watches Ema dodge, leaning out of the way of the hit, but only just barely. He sees a faint blush on her cheeks, under her whiskers, and he wonders what that’s about as Maka throws two kicks, one waist high and one at Ema’s head in quick succession, faster than when she’d been fighting Izuku and Shinsou.

“And then,” she says, sliding back, “I do that. If I push, I can fight a little faster than usual for a few seconds, and since I’d just been going slow on purpose and my quirk is stronger, most people get scared and jump to their own conclusions.” She turns, putting her hands on her hips and looking at Izuku and Shinsou. “My quirk makes people perceive me as a threat, so I use that to my advantage, but the actual special move is really just me tricking people into thinking I’d suddenly gotten faster. I called it ‘disorienting strike,’ but I don’t plan on being the type of hero who shouts the names of their moves, really,” she says, grinning and looking down at them. 

“So, Midoriya, Shinsou,” she says, tipping her head to the side, her bangs falling over her left eye. “Got any ideas for your special moves?”

Izuku blinks, glancing over at Shinsou. Shinsou stares back at him, then shrugs, sighing.

“To be honest,” Shinsou says. “I hadn’t really thought of anything beyond just brainwashing my opponent.” He leans forward, crossing his legs so he’s sitting criss-cross. “I’m not in the heroics course, so I haven’t been in the class on making a special move, either.” 

Maka huffs, rolling her eyes. “I already told you that was shortsighted, didn’t I?” She starts to take a step forward, then freezes, putting her foot back where it was. “Ugh. I’m still all sweaty,” she says, glancing down at herself. “Whatever. You seem to think you’re real smart, right?” she asks, looking back at Shinsou with a brow quirked up. “Use that big brain of yours and come up with something beyond the obvious for a change.” 

Izuku swallows, glancing over to see a scowl on Shinsou’s face as the other boy rolls his eyes, getting to his feet and brushing off the front of his uniform. Shinsou folds his arms over his chest, tilting his head to the side slightly and staring Maka down.

“You don’t know anything about me,” Shinsou says. “So do us both a favor and stop pretending you do.” His eyes narrow, and Izuku clenches his jaw, pulling himself up and standing beside Shinsou. The other boy is taller than him even without his poofy hair, and Izuku has to look up slightly at him.

“M-Maybe we should calm down,” he says, raising his hands in a placating gesture. Shinsou’s eyes flick over to him, disdain and annoyance in his gaze. Izuku can feel Maka’s gaze on him too, and he swallows, wondering if he’d be anxious in this situation normally, or if it’s Maka’s quirk. 

“I agree,” Ema says, taking a step forward. Izuku glances over to see her set a hand on Maka’s shoulder. “We can do this a different way!” She looks at Izuku and Shinsou, smiles. “I think that there’s two things you have to do to make a good special move, really.” 

Izuku blinks. “W-What are they?” he asks, grateful for the diversion from the weird angry staring contest Shinsou and Maka seem to have going. Ema looks at him completely and holds up two fingers.

“Well the first is to cover for your weaknesses,” she says, putting one finger down, “and the other is to enhance your strengths!” she says, closing her hand into a fist and smiling. “For me when I got my license, my quirk was still a weakness in battle, not a strength. So, I got the support team to make me something that would help me with that!” Ema grins, reaching towards her waist, then pausing. “Oh, I forgot I’m in my sports uniform, not my costume, but it’s a smoke bomb,” she says, rubbing the back of her head. “If I’m blinded, I can still fight, and I don’t get as overwhelmed by all of the movement and stuff. But it puts my opponent at a disadvantage, so it turns my weakness into a strength  _ and _ it makes it so other people are weaker!” 

“Which is what you need to be doing,” Maka says, and Izuku looks over to her. She has a scowl on her face, but there isn’t the same heat to her voice as usual. “Both of you have strengths and weaknesses. Everybody does. Every single hero-in-training has something special about them that they can turn into a move.” She sighs, turning so her back is facing them, walking away, but she looks back over her shoulder. “You two are smart, and your weaknesses are obvious. People are going to underestimate you.” she grins, wide and wicked. “Use their stupidity to your advantage, and crush them.” She turns her head away from them and keeps walking, her arms folded over her chest, and Izuku stares at her, blinking. Ema seems equally confused, turning and staring at her.

“Hey, Maka-chan!” Ema says, frowning. “Where are you going? It hasn’t been two hours yet.” She reaches out, setting a hand on Maka’s shoulder, but Maka brushes it off with pale fingers.

“I’m going to shower,” she says. “I’m disgusting, and my quirk is  _ everywhere _ . I’m pretty sure you and Haruta can handle babysitting for them for the next half hour or whatever.” She casts a glance back over her shoulder as she opens the door to the locker rooms attached to the gym, red eyes shining in the light. Izuku blinks as the door shuts behind her, making a loud noise that echoes in the gym.

Ema sighs. “Well, there she goes,” she says, taking a few steps away from the door and closer to where Izuku and Shinsou are standing. Across the gym, Izuku sees Haruta set his phone face down on the bench and uncross his legs, getting to his feet and stretching with his hands above his head. Izuku kind of doesn’t want him participating in the conversation, but he tamps down that thought quickly.  _ He can probably sense that, _ he thinks to himself.  _ I can’t be rude. It’s not his fault I have secrets _ . Izuku bites his lip and forcibly redirects himself to thinking about the shape and size of the foam tiles that make up the flooring here. 

“Aizawa-sensei should be here soon, anyway,” Ema says with a sigh, stopping a few feet away from Izuku and Shinsou. Haruta joins her, nodding.

“I don’t think he actually intended to leave us for the full two hours,” he says, his arms folded over his chest like he’s cold, then glances over to Izuku, biting at his lower lip. “I-I can leave, if I’m making you uncomfortable,” he says, and Izuku blinks.

“O-Oh, no, i-it’s fine!” Izuku says, shaking his head. “It’s not--you’re fine, really!” He swallows, squeezing his hands into fists. Even with Maka’s scent fading from the room, he still feels uneasy.

“You can’t turn it off at all?” Shinsou asks, and when Izuku turns to look at him, he’s watching Haruta with his usual tired expression. “I bet  _ that _ made you real popular in middle school,” he scoffs, and when Izuku glances back at Haruta, he can tell Shinsou’s right on the mark by the way the older boy is grimacing and staring down at the ground, his arms tightening around himself.

“I suppose you’d know,” Haruta replies softly, and there’s no heat in his voice. “After all, society isn’t very fond of quirks that involve the mind.” He stares at Shinsou, and Shinsou returns his gaze with a flat expression.

“Is that why Aizawa sent you and Stinky?” Shinsou asks, tipping his head to the side. “Because we all have villain’s quirks?” 

Haruta shrugs, looking back down at the ground. “I think that was part of it, yeah.” He takes a deep breath, but doesn’t say anything else. Izuku glances between him and Shinsou.

“And... all three of you have latent quirks,” Izuku says, hesitantly. Ema and Shinsou both look at him, but Haruta keeps his gaze trained on the floor. “So, you would have similar difficulties in battle to me, since I don’t have a quirk and you can’t control yours.” 

Ema nods, smiling. “Yeah! I think that’s a big part of it, too. Especially with me and Maka-chan, our quirks can be huge weaknesses. So, maybe he wanted you to see that being quirkless could be a strength!” she says, giving him a thumbs up. Izuku blinks, staring back at her.

“A strength?” he echoes. She nods. 

“Yeah! You’re not affected by stuff like Aizawa-sensei’s quirk, and you’re used to fighting without one, so you don’t have to worry so much about bad quirk matchups. It also means people will underestimate you,” Ema says, holding up a finger. “You’re pretty versatile, Midoriya!” 

Izuku stares back at her. He wants to think about that, wants to process it, but he also can’t think about himself and quirklessness, not around someone who might be able to read his mind. Instead of thinking about it, instead of letting himself consider what that might mean, he just smiles.

“Thanks, Ema,” he says. “Nobody’s ever said something like that to me before.” Izuku returns her smile, and as Shinsou turns to say something to Haruta, Izuku thinks that training with these second years might not be too bad after all.

\--

It’s a warm, bright morning, the sun filtering through the leaves of the trees to Izuku’s left as he walks down the sidewalk. This part of town is residential, like where he and his mom live, but it’s not somewhere he remembers being before. The maples and oaks that line the sidewalk are big and old, with thick, strong branches, and the rain lilies that dot the ground between the roots of the trees give the air a sweet smell. Izuku pulls the flip phone Miura had given him out of his pocket, flipping it open to double check the time.  _ 10:57. I’m right on time. _

Izuku looks ahead, where he can see the path turn to his left, into a park. The gate to the park is old and rusted, black paint chipping off of the metal and ivy climbing around the bars of the fence. Izuku steps into the park, glancing around. It’s fairly simple, and it’s clear from the way that the grass is overgrown and the wooden benches are green with moss that it hasn’t been popular in a long time. Izuku finds himself staring at a patch of irises, white and lavender and gold, growing up around a picnic table under a cherry blossom tree, thick with green leaves. Sitting at that table, just beside the irises, is Miura, wearing a deep violet dress that looks like it falls to about her knees. Her hair is in its usual style, and when she turns to look at Izuku, he can see a fresh bruise on the bottom right side of her jaw.

“Miura,” he greets, raising a hand and smiling.  _ Act like we’re friends when we meet in public, _ the texts had said.  _ We want anyone who sees us to see a normal friendship, the kind they won’t think twice of. _

“Midoriya,” she greets, smiling up at him. “Have a seat,” she says, quieter, as she gestures at the table in front of her. Izuku nods, sliding into the seat across from her. The wood feels well worn and soft underneath his shorts, but it’s slightly damp, too. Izuku grimaces slightly at the sensation, glancing down to look at the wooden seat before looking back up at Miura.

“I’ve never heard about this park before,” Izuku says, tipping his head to the side. Miura nods, her dark eyes meeting his.

“It’s good for having conversations we’d rather not have overheard,” she says. “I’m also fond of the flowers, here.” Miura turns, glancing at the irises. “It’s particularly nice in May and June. There’s even a couple of wisterias.” A small smile spreads on her lips, but after a moment, she sighs, and it fades away. “Now, I have something for you.” she reaches down, pulling a black duffel bag Izuk hadn’t noticed before up and onto the table. 

“Is that...?” Izuku blinks, tugging the bag over to himself when Miura nods.

“It’s your new costume, yes. Wear your old one for about another week, then you can start using this one. I have more details on a note inside the bag,” she says, and Izuku nods, taking the bag and setting it on the bench next to him. It’s heavier than he’d thought it would be for just clothing, and he swears he hears the clink of metal from within the bag. 

“T-Thank you,” Izuku says, blinking at her. She just sighs, meeting his gaze.

“I also have something less pleasant to give you,” Miura says, turning to look off to the side. “I have your first mission.” 

Izuku swallows. “What is it?” he asks, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the surface of the table. Miura sighs, like she does so often, and crosses her arms over her chest. Izuku can see a series of dark violet bruises on her wrists and fingers, but what stands out to him most clearly is a line of small, circular scars that peek out from under her sleeve, on the inside edge of her arm. Izuku bites at his lower lip.  _ Cigarette burns? Like Mouse has... _

Miura follows his gaze to her arm, her lips pursing as she tugs down her sleeve to cover the scars. She sighs, moving one of her ponytails off of her shoulder and onto her back, then meets his eyes. 

“You’ll be collecting information from a pro hero’s office within Musutafu,” Miura says, folding her arms over her chest. “They provide quirk counseling services for free to certain groups. You’ll be gathering quirk registration and analysis records and either memorizing or copying them.” She sighs, her gaze serious. “Don’t get caught, and don’t let them find out anyone’s gone through their records.” 

Izuku nods. “Which pro?” he asks, and Miura nods slightly.

“It’s Death Arms,” she says. “I’m sure you’ve seen him around.” 

“I have,” Izuku confirms, nodding. “What do you need the quirk information for?” he asks, tipping his head to the side slightly. Miura sighs, shutting her eyes for a moment.

“You know that I can’t tell you that,” She answers, her eyes opening and staring at the surface of the table. “But you’re smart. You’ll figure it out given enough time, I’m sure.” 

Izuku swallows. “Right,” he says. He remembers that man in the suit, with the portal quirk, so long ago. He’d been trying to capture a young girl with an empathy quirk, and Izuku knows just from his brief time at the Gekkeiju base that they value quirks even more than most. They’d been ready to kill him just because he was quirkless. It’s not hard for Izuku to guess what they might do with the information he gets, even if he doesn’t know  _ why _ they’d do it.  _ Some kid could become a target because of the information I bring in. _

“Here,” Miura says, pulling out a flip phone identical to Izuku’s and typing on it, the buttons clicking under her thumb. “I’m giving you the address to the building you were held in. You’ll need to go there next weekend and report what you’ve found.” She glances up at him as she flicks the phone shut. “I’ve been told to inform you that if the address is leaked, the boss will remove one of Mouse’s arms,” she says, her lips drawn into something between a grimace and a frown. Izuku swallows.

“Oh,” he says, voice faint. “Right.” He reaches into his pocket, his hand resting on the phone. Miura sighs, putting her own away.

“It’s about thirty minutes from here if you take the train and then walk,” Miura says. “And you’ll be able to see Mouse if you go.” She says, smiling faintly. “She’s been talking about you.”

Izuku blinks. “About me?” he asks, and Miura nods. 

“She wanted to know if you made it out okay, mostly.” She sighs, a fond smile on her face. Izuku bties at his lower lip.

“Is she okay?” he asks. “I mean, as okay as she can be.”

Miura’s smile drops some. “Yeah, she’s... well.” She glances to the side, to where the park continues on. “She hasn’t been doing worse than normal.” Izuku swallows, nods. At this angle, he can see the full extent of the bruise on Miura’s jaw, the way it spreads onto her neck and the way it’s dark violet, with dark red and black in the center.  _ It’s recent, _ he realizes. 

“Next weekend,” Izuku says softly. He thinks about returning to that place, about going down the elevator into the basement with the cream color painted thick over the bricks, about seeing Mouse streaked with soot and staring up at him with dark eyes. He thinks about seeing Fury again, about Fury’s quirk. Izuku isn’t sure what he’s more afraid of; Hell, or the way that his heart picks up when he thinks of Heaven. A shiver runs down his spine, and he tells himself it’s just fear, that it’s not mixed at all with excitement or apprehension.

“Next weekend,” Miura says, standing up from the park table. “Stay here for a little bit, play on your phone or something. Wait until I’ve had plenty of time to leave the area before you go, okay?” She looks at him, meets his eyes. “Be careful, Midoriya.”

Izuku blinks, nods. “R-Right,” he says. “I’ll try.”

He watches Miura walk out of the park, her long pigtails swaying in the light breeze as she walks. Her shoes, bright purple high top sneakers, stand out in the bright green of the grass. There isn’t a single drop of red or gold or cream in his field of vision, but Izuku feels like he can see Fury and the basement anyway, so he keeps his eyes trained on Miura’s back until she disappears around the corner, out of the gate Izuku had walked through not long ago. 

\--

That night, Izuku sits on his bed, turning over a bright orange bottle in his hands. The pills inside rattle softly in the plastic, the white label with his name and the type of medication on it in neat print. They’re sleeping pills, ones that the hospital had prescribed Izuku last time he was there, when he’d said he had trouble sleeping. That wasn’t true--Izuku can sleep just fine, he just chooses to go out and be Ace at night instead. It’d gotten the doctors off of his back, though, and he’d gotten the prescription for a month’s worth of sleeping pills as a result. 

The pills, small and white, rattle softly against their cage as Izuku shakes the bottle. He hadn’t thought much of them, but when he’d been hiding the duffel bag Miura gave him, stuffing it in his desk drawer to stash it away until it was time to switch from the old costume to the new one, he’d found the bottle of pills, shoved into a clear plastic bag along with the first aid kit and thermometer his mom had packed for him. 

Izuku’d looked up what would happen if he took all of them, of course. It might not kill him, but it’d definitely be  _ bad.  _ He’s been toying with the idea ever since he saw the pills, thought about taking them while he ate dinner and showered. It’s not that late right now, but Izuku thinks it’ll probably take a bit before they’d kick in, anyway. He could take the pills, go to bed, and he’d either die or he could kill himself when he woke up in the morning to undo what he’d done and any lasting damage the pills caused. 

Izuku’s a little scared of drugs, to be honest. He’s worried that even though he won’t have any of the medicine left in his body after resetting, he could get addicted, or he could get caught, and he’d get in trouble. He doesn’t want to be reliant on something like that, doesn’t want to crave a drug the same way he craves death. But the thing is, Izuku can’t just bleed out every night. Each time he does it, he’s risking someone walking past the door and smelling the blood, hearing his dying breaths. Dying of a sleeping pill overdose would be quiet. He’d look like he was sleeping. 

Izuku takes a deep breath, then unscrews the lid to the bottle, pressing down on the child safety lock on the cap. He tips a few of the pills out onto his hand. They’re small, white ovals, chalky and matte. Izuku cocks his head back, pouring the handful of pills into his mouth, grimacing at the taste as he grabs his water bottle from his desk, unscrewing the lid and gulping down a few mouthfuls. He sets the water bottle down, then pours the rest of the pills into his hand, quickly downing them. He drinks a few more sips from his water bottle before standing up, walking over to his desk and opening the top drawer. He places the bottle in the drawer, then shuts it.  _ Just so that nobody sees it if they come in. _

Izuku sits on the bed, playing on his phone and idly scrolling through the group chat. He tries not to think about it, tries not to pay attention to how he feels, but it’s only after about half an hour that he starts to feel sleepy, like something heavy is sitting on his chest. He’s been reading something that Kaminari sent a link to for the past five minutes or so, and he realizes only when he reaches the bottom of the page that he doesn’t remember any of it. Izuku blinks, trying to focus, but he finds he can’t. His eyelids feel heavy, warm. 

He sits up, blinking quickly. He’d been lying down on his bed, but he knows that he’ll fall asleep if he doesn’t sit upright, so he leans his back against the wall and takes deep, slow breaths. The drugs hit him harder than he expected, but he doesn’t feel high or anything like that. Izuku blinks again, his vision blurring slightly. He’s not sure he’s a fan of the sensation.

Izuku’s startled by a knock at his door, and he turns his head to stare at it. There’s a pause, a brief break where it’s just Izuku and the spinning of the room, but then whoever it is knocks again.

“Midoriya,” they say, voice muffled by the door and Izuku’s exhaustion. “It’s only eight, and your lights are on. I know you’re up.” Izuku blinks, then hauls himself off of his bed, stumbling to the door. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he registers that answering the door in his current state is a bad idea, but he can’t be bothered to think too deeply about that. He fumbles with the lock for a moment before pulling his door open, looking up to see Monoma staring back at him. 

“H-Hi,” Izuku says, his voice slightly slurred. “What are you... what are you doing here?” he asks, tipping his head to the side. Monoma quirks an eyebrow at him, then pushes his way past Izuku, into the room.

“I thought I’d come and play cards,” he says, shutting the door with one hand and holding up a deck of playing cards with the other. “What’s wrong with you?”

Izuku blinks. “Nothing,” he says, then stops. He can’t think of anything else to say. Monoma narrows his eyes at Izuku, taking a step closer.

“Are you  _ high? _ ” he asks, voice incredulous. Monoma sets a hand on Izuku’s jaw, tilting his face so he can stare into Izuku’s eyes. His hand is warm on Izuku’s skin, but Izuku can’t quite focus on Monoma’s blue eyes, even with him holding still and standing right in front of him.

“Technically,” Izuku says, “I guess I am?” He blinks as Monoma clicks his tongue, letting go of Izuku’s jaw.

“Figures,” he says, scowling. “Your pupils are huge. What the hell are you doing?” He waves a hand. “Kind of a bad place to do drugs, don’t you think?” There’s an undertone to his voice that Izuku would probably be able to place if he wasn’t so  _ sleepy _ . The room has started to warp and spin slightly, and Izuku thinks that moving would be a bad idea, so he holds his position, looking at Monoma.

“‘M not trying to get high,” Izuku slurs, blinking again. It’s kind of hard to keep his eyes open, really. “Wanted to know if it was enough to kill me.” He reaches a hand up to rubs at his eyes, but his arm is shaking, trembling. Izuku stares down at it, trying to focus his vision, but all he sees is a blur of small motion as Monoma takes in a sharp breath.

“Fuck, Midoriya,” he says, voice rough. Izuku feels a hand touch his shoulder, guiding him to the bed. “Sit down. You look like you’re about to keel over.” Izuku lets Monoma push him into a sitting position.

“Kinda the point,” Izuku says, something like laughter on his lips. Monoma shakes his head at him, crawling onto the bed next to him. 

“What did you take, and how much?” he asks, tugging Izuku. Izuku lets him maneuver him so that he’s lying down on his side, his head in Monoma’s lap and facing out into the room. Izuku recognizes the recovery position, and he kind of feels like laughing again. He wants to tell Monoma that choking on his own vomit would be a  _ good _ thing for Izuku right now, but he can recognize even now that that’d be the wrong thing to say. 

“Not telling,” Izuku says, humming as he lets his eyes shut. “I hope it works,” he murmurs, and he feels a warm hand rest on his neck, on the exposed skin between his ear and the collar of his long-sleeved shirt.

“Midoriya...” Monoma says, his voice hesitant, rough. “We could tell someone. We  _ should _ tell someone.” Izuku blinks his eyes, open, turns to look at Monoma, but all he can make out is a blur of blue and pale blonde.

“What about the traitor?” he asks, although he’s not entirely sure it comes out clearly enough for Monoma to understand. He thinks he sees Monoma’s brows knitting together.

“Not about your quirk,” he says, and Izuku can see his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows. “About this. We could pass it off as a normal suicide attempt, get you some help.” Izuku snorts, the laughter light and airy. Monoma’s hand moves from his neck to his shoulder, gripping tightly but not painfully.

“Don’t want help,” Izuku says, his eyes sliding shut against his wishes. “Just wanna die.” He feels cold and dizzy, weak and shaky, but he can’t bring himself to care about it. It’s like he’s wreathed in snow--blurry, thick snow--and buried under a mountain of something fuzzy. He doesn’t process what’s happening as Monoma grabs one of his hands, wrapping warm fingers around it.

“Your fingers are turning blue,” Monoma says dully. “You’ll be unconscious soon, won’t you.” It isn’t a question.

“Stay?” Izuku asks, and he doesn’t know why he asks. “You don’t have to... remember, but...” he trails off, trying and failing to take a deep breath. His lungs don’t seem to want to move, staying stubbornly still in his chest. He gets in a small, tiny breath, but it doesn’t bother him. He’s so tired.

“Of course I’m staying,” Monoma scoffs. “And I’m not forgetting this, either. I’m already copying your shitty quirk, Midoriya.” Izuku hears something hard and sharp in his voice, but the world is rapidly fading away.

“Thanks,” Izuku mumbles, trying to squeeze Monoma’s hand where it’s still holding his. He thinks he manages to, but in the next moment, he’s falling asleep, fading into deep, icy nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: drug usage as part of suicide, reference to child abuse/torture
> 
> [discord!](https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt)
> 
> i hope you enjoyed!!! hopefully it wasn't actually a shitty chapter, i've had major brain fog today for some reason and it's made writing hard ugh


	53. provisional license exam prep, part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku trains more with the second years, gets his first mission from miura, and gets caught mid-suicide by monoma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GAMERS i hope you all enjoy this!!! im back in my dorm and we have power and water!!! it's not drinkable, but we can shower and it's safe after boiling which is enough for me

When Izuku opens his eyes, he’s sitting on his bed with an orange bottle in his hands. He blinks, swallowing, and for a horrible, horrible moment he thinks he’s already taken the pills, but he gives the bottle a shake and it rattles, the white pills moving around inside. Izuku breathes a sigh of relief, but in the next moment, there’s a series of urgent knocks at his door, and Izuku blinks, shoving the bottle of pills under his pillows and standing up. He hurries over to the door and unlocks it, pulling it open to see Monoma, with his blonde hair disheveled and his blue eyes wide. 

“Midoriya,” Monoma gasps, out of breath as he pushes himself into the room, slamming the door shut behind him. “Have you taken anything?” he asks as he reaches forward, grabbing either side of Izuku’s face. Izuku swallows, blinking as Monoma looks into his eyes, his brows furrowed.  _ He’s checking my pupils _ , he realizes. 

“I--N-No, I haven’t,” Izuku stammers out, watching as Monoma sighs in relief, releasing Izuku’s face and taking a step back, dropping his hands. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, before he’s moving forward again, pulling Izuku into a tight hug. One of his hands cradles the back of Izuku’s head, and the other wraps tightly around his back. 

“Don’t do that again,” Monoma says, voice rough. “What the  _ fuck _ , Midoriya?” He makes a noise that might be either a sob or a laugh, and Izuku blinks, moving his arms to return the hug.

“M-Monoma?” Izuku asks, feeling Monoma’s hand grip his hair tightly, but not painfully. “Are you okay...?”

Monoma snorts. “Of course not,” he says, and yeah, Izuku can definitely hear tears in his voice. “You’re paying for my therapy when all this traitor shit is sorted out.” His arms tighten around Izuku slightly, and then he’s pulling away, wiping at his eyes before Izuku can see anything. When he pulls his hand away, though, his face is a little red.

“Um,” Izuku says, swallowing. “I-I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean for you to have to see that,” he says, biting at his lower lip. Monoma looks at him, then scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“That’s what you’re sorry for?” he asks. “You should be sorry for killing yourself in the first place.” Monoma sighs, folding his arms over his chest and staring Izuku down. “Now tell me why,” he says, and Izuku blinks.

“W-Why?” Izuku asks. “I-I thought I told you, I wanted to see if it was enough to kill me.” Izuku watches as Monoma’s eyes narrow, his lips twitching into a scowl. 

“Couldn’t google it like the rest of us?” Monoma says, then blows out a puff of air that pushes up a strand of his blonde hair where it’s fallen in front of his face. “Give me the pills,” he says, and Izuku blinks, shaking his head.

“N-No, I need them,” Izuku says, taking a deep breath. “I-I need to be able to reset quietly, so that--”

“So what?” Monoma interrupts, his lips pressed together in a thin line. “So that you can kill yourself for funsies? Because there  _ clearly _ wasn’t a threat tonight,” he says, gesturing at the air. “I thought you said you killed yourself to  _ save  _ people. Who, exactly, did this save?” Izuku swallows. He can feel a bubble of frustration, hot and sticky, build up in his throat. He  _ really  _ doesn’t want to cry, not right now.

“I’m training,” Izuku says. “A-After five or so deaths, I start to get sick. So, I’m increasing my limit,” he explains, watching as Monoma’s brows pull together. “It might not be saving someone  _ now, _ but it might  _ later _ .” 

Monoma swallows visibly. “I think it’s working,” he says, his voice quiet. “Your training.” Izuku blinks, frowning.

“What does that mean?” Izuku asks, searching Monoma’s gaze for an answer. All he sees is wide blue eyes and a worried frown behind blonde bangs. “What did you see?”

Monoma blinks, then shrugs, looking to the side. “I’ll tell you if you give me the pills,” he says, voice hard. “And you have to tell me how often you’re ‘training,’” he says, making air quotes around the last word. Izuku frowns. 

“I-I’m not giving you the pills,” he says, “and even if I did, it wouldn’t stop me. It’s just one of the better methods.” Izuku watches as Monoma meets his eyes again.

“Then I’ll tell your teacher that you’re suicidal,” Monoma says, a determined set to his face. “You give me the pills, or I find your teacher at a random time and tell him at a time when you won’t know to reset. You can take the risk of it being permanent and being watching so you can’t kill yourself at  _ all _ ,” he says, taking a deep breath and steeling himself, pulling himself to his full height. “Or, you can give me the pills and tell me about what you’re doing.” 

Izuku swallows. “Under my pillow,” he says, voice small, and Monoma moves quickly, darting to the bed and fishing them out. He holds the label up, his eyes squinting as he reads it, and Izuku just watches. He feels something sick and heavy in his gut, and he swallows against the wave of despair that hits him. Monoma sighs, dropping his hand, the pills rattling in their plastic house.

“I don’t think you died, Midoriya,” Monoma says, his face still twisted like he’s in pain. “You didn’t... you weren’t out long enough, and you were still breathing.” He shakes the bottle. “And this isn’t nearly enough to kill someone.” 

Izuku blinks, feels his eyebrows furrow. “I didn’t die?” he asks, staring at Monoma. “But then...”

“You don’t need to die to reset,” Monoma says, nodding. He slips his hand with the bottle of pills into the pocket of his shorts. Izuku watches his hand.

“I can’t activate it on purpose,” Izuku says, biting at his lower lip. “Is it just... on threat of death?” 

Monoma shakes his head, shrugging. “I don’t know. It could be if you  _ think _ you’re dying,” he says, then adds quietly, “or if you  _ want _ to die.” His voice cracks, slightly. Izuku stares at him a moment, watching his friend stare at the ground, blue eyes behind thick blonde lashes, narrowed and creased. Izuku hesitates for a moment, then takes a step forward, pulling Monoma into another hug. He feels Monoma freeze under his grip for a moment, then relax, and his friend’s arms, warmer and longer than his own, wrap around him.

“I’m sorry,” Izuku says into Monoma’s shoulder. “I scared you.” He feels Monoma swallow, feels his throat moving in the tiny distance between it and Izuku’s face.

“You did,” Monoma says, voice quiet. “You scared me.” he pauses a moment, his chest rising and falling. Izuku can feel his heart beating, even strong. “How often are you training your quirk?” Monoma asks, voice dull.

“Every night,” Izuku replies, honestly. “I... I kind of like it?” he says, his voice turning into a question at the end. Monoma’s fingers grip tightly in the back of Izuku’s shirt.

“You’re so fucking stupid, Midoriya,” Monoma says, and Izuku lets out a breath into his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says, and then, “Call me Izuku.” He blurts it out without really thinking, and then Monoma’s pulling back a bit, staring at him with narrowed eyes. 

“You sure?” Monoma asks, frowning. “You don’t... I’m not close to you, not like Uraraka or Todoroki.” Izuku meets his gaze, nods.

“I’m sure,” he says, then smiles. “We’ve died together. I think that makes us pretty close,” Izuku says, sighing softly. “Plus, we’re friends, right?” Monoma blinks, then pulls Izuku back into a tight hug. 

“Right,” he says. “Friends.” He chuckles, a wet laugh that makes Izuku’s heart break, just a little bit. “God, Kendou’s going to make fun of me. I’m friends with Izuku from class 1-A.” He snorts, laughing again, and Izuku smiles into his shoulder.

“I wonder what my classmates think,” Izuku says, and Monoma snorts. 

“They probably think we’re crazy,” he says, pulling back, moving so that his hands are resting on Izuku’s shoulders. “Which  _ you _ definitely are, by the way,” he says, his usual smirk on his face. If his eyes weren’t rimmed with red, Izuku might not even be able to tell he’d just been crying.

“D-Do you want to play cards?” Izuku asks, suddenly. Monoma blinks, his smirk dropping and his lips parting slightly. “That’s what you came here for, right?” Monoma nods, and he steps back, reaching into one of his pockets and producing a deck of cards. He holds them up, his lazy grin taking its usual place on his face.

“Let’s gamble,” he says, taking a step back and plopping down onto Izuku’s floor. “For every time one of us wins, the other picks a truth or a dare.” Izuku blinks, then sits down on the floor across from him.

“Like the game?” he asks, tipping his head to the side. Monoma nods, pulling the cards from their container and starting to shuffle them quickly. His hands move quickly through the red and white cards, his pale fingers nimble. Izuku finds himself watching them.

“Like the game,” Monoma echoes. “I’ll warn you in advance, though. I’m going to use this to get you to tell me more about what you’re doing to yourself.” The cards make a ruffling sound as Monoma looks up, catching Izuku’s gaze with icy blue eyes. “If you want to keep your secrets, you’ll have to let me dare you.”

Izuku sighs, raising an eyebrow. “Isn’t this a bit unfair?” he asks, even though he’s smiling still. “You’re the one who wants to know something from me, Monoma.”

Monoma arches an eyebrow, leaning forward and smirking. “So you don’t think I have any secrets, then?” he asks, his eyes narrowing. “And call me Neito,” he says, dealing Izuku a hand of cards. “It’s only fair.”

Izuku blinks, taking the cards with a grin. “Thanks, Neito,” he says, holding up his hand of cards. Neito returns his smile, half-hidden behind his own cards, their red and white backs contrasting with the bright blue of his eyes. 

\--

Izuku’s mom hands him a box with a smile. “I’ll get the next one, and that’ll be it!” she says, turning to look at Aizawa. “Thank you for giving us a ride! It’s a lot easier to move my office with a car than it would be on the train,” she says, giving him a bright smile. Aizawa nods to her, his face flat. He’s carrying a bag himself, a reusable grocery bag Izuku’s mom had used to help pack.

“Of course,” he says, sighing as he shuts the trunk of his car. “I wasn’t going to make you two carry this stuff all the way from the train station.” He’s wearing his hair tied back in a ponytail, with a white t-shirt on and shorts instead of his usual hero costume. Izuku isn’t used to seeing him dressed this way, but it makes sense, he supposes.  _ It is Sunday, after all.  _ Thinking of the date reminds Izuku that next weekend, a week from yesterday, he’ll have to meet up with the Gekkeiju at their own base to give his report. Thinking about it sends a shiver down his spine. 

“Izuku?” Inko calls, and Izuku blinks, realizing that Inko and Aizawa have started into the campus. Izuku hurries to catch up with them, the cardboard box he’s carrying not quite heavy enough to slow him down, but enough that he has to grip tight with his hands to keep a firm grip on it. 

“Sorry, mom!” Izuku says as he catches up with them. “I got distracted.” Izuku sees Aizawa glance at him, his eyes slightly narrowed, but Izuku pretends he doesn’t notice the scrutiny. 

“I could tell,” Inko says, laughter in her voice. “Let’s go! I want to see my new office.” She hurries forward, walking through campus. Izuku knows she’s been here just the other day, for her interview, but he’s still surprised to see her headed for the infirmary wing confidently. 

“Well, we’d better hurry up, then,” Izuku says, looking over to Aizawa. His teacher nods, but he doesn’t move forward. Izuku sees his eyes focus on something just past Izuku, and Izuku turns to see Nezu approaching the two of them, his paws folded neatly behind his back.

“Midoriya! Aizawa! How are you two doing today?” Nezu asks, his voice raised so he can be heard over the short distance. Izuku blinks, glancing at Aizawa, and he’s surprised to see a trace of a scowl on his teacher’s face.  _ Are he and Nezu arguing right now? _

“Fine,” Aizawa says, voice low. “We’re helping his mother move into her new office.” He jerks his head to where Inko is still walking on, oblivious to the conversation happening behind her.

“Mm,” Nezu hums as he comes to a stop a few feet away from them. “And how have you been, Midoriya?” His beady eyes focus on Izuku, his smile as friendly as ever. “How are you recovering from your time in the hands of the Gekkeiju?”

Izuku blinks. “Um,” he says, his heart jumping up to his throat. Aizawa sighs next to him.

“Nezu, we’re in the middle of something,” Aizawa says, voice low and annoyed. “Can’t this wait?” Izuku swallows, taking a step towards Aizawa and away from Nezu. Nezu’s gaze follows him, and he tips his head to the side slightly.

“I just wanted to ask how young Midoriya here managed to get away from such a powerful villain group,” Nezu says, his tone light and friendly despite his words. “After all, isn’t it kind of suspicious that they’d just let him go?” He blinks, his smile never wavering. Izuku swallows, takes a breath as he feels his heartbeat pick up in his chest.

“They let me go,” Izuku says, his voice small. He sees Aizwa glance over to him, then back at Nezu.

“Back off, Nezu,” Aizawa says, narrowing his eyes at him. “We can talk about this later. Like I said earlier, we’re in the middle of something” Izuku watches as Nezu looks up at Aizawa, his smile widening slightly.

“Of course!” Nezu says, chuckling. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” He turns, starting to walk away, and Izuk starts to relax. Nezu pauses, though, turning to look back over his shoulder.

“I look forward to hearing your story some other time, then, Midoriya,” Nezu says, before turning to walk away from them again. Izuku watches him with a cold pit of dread in his stomach that doesn’t fade the entire time he and Aizawa help his mom move into her new workplace.

\--

Izuku throws one last kick at the training dummy, hissing in frustration. His muscles feel fast and strong, his movements quick and well timed, but that’s all they are. He drops into a fighting stance, holding it for another second before sighing and letting his hands fall to his sides. There’s sweat gathered on his brow, cooling in the air from the fans above, but Izuku doesn’t bother wiping it off of his face. He turns on his heels, stalking out of the gym. He half expects Cementoss to ask him to stay, but the teacher doesn’t.  _ Class has technically ended, _ Izuku notes.  _ We’re all just staying as long as it takes to master our special moves. _

Not that Izuku  _ has  _ a special move. He’s been trying to think about what the second years told him, about making his weaknesses into strengths, about coming up with something clever, but no matter what he comes up with, it doesn’t feel  _ special _ . Izuku’s considered a few different things, mostly involving the razor teeth the support department made for him, but everything is just... biting with the teeth, or slashing with a blade. There’s nothing  _ special _ about cutting someone with a knife.

Izuku’s current idea is to do something that disables his opponent’s quirk, something to even the playing field and force his opponent to fight him without their quirk. The problem is, Izuku can’t actually come up with a reliable way to do that. He knows that a lot of quirks rely on the user’s hands for activation, but it’s still not even half of all quirks that work that way. He can’t exactly have his super moves be the kind of thing that he can’t actually  _ use. _

Izuku stalks out of the gym, headed towards the locker room. He’s covered in a thin layer of sweat that makes his hero costume cling to his skin, uncomfortably warm even in the air conditioned gym. The fabric feels sticky, like it’s been soaked in syrup or blood, and Izuku shivers as he opens the door to the locker room, letting it fall shut behind him. He hates the way he feels right now, tired and exhausted and  _ useless _ . What’s the point of him having a quirk if he’s not going to be able to use it to be a hero? He can’t exactly have his special move be dramatically killing himself on the battlefield. 

Izuku walks over to his locker, pulling out his uniform. The fabric of the blazer and shirt feel clean but stiff in his hands, and he sighs as he shuts the locker, listening to the clang of the metal echoing in the quiet room. He wishes that he’d brought a change of street clothes with him, too, but he hadn’t even thought to do it until just now.  _ I’ll have to make do _ , he thinks, even though he knows that he’ll get sweaty enough on the walk across campus that he’ll have to wash his uniform. 

Izuku turns, meaning to head to the showers, but instead, he jumps in surprise. Todoroki is standing at the end of the row of lockers, still in his costume, watching Izuku. Izuku blinks, surprised.

“T-Todoroki,” he says, raising his free hand in a little wave. “Are you done for the day, too?” he asks, and thankfully, his voice doesn’t shake beyond that first little stutter. Todoroki tips his head slightly to the side.

“I...” He blinks, giving himself a little shake. “I am, yes. I actually wanted to talk to you.” He breathes out, slow and measured, and Izuku can see a little crease between his brows. Izuku frowns.

“To me?” he asks. “Is everything okay?” Izuku’s mind is racing with the things that Todoroki might want to ask him about. He could have seen Neito coming to Izuku’s room two nights ago, could have seen how upset Neito was. He might have remembered something about Izuku’s deaths in the sports festival, could have put together what’s going on. He might know something that Izuku doesn’t want him to know.

Todoroki nods. “Everything’s fine,” he says, voice calm. Izuku forces himself to focus. “I was just wondering if you were busy after dinner, tonight.” Izuku blinks.

“N-No, I’m not,” he says, which is mostly true. Izuku plans on getting up around two in the morning and doing some work as Ace, but Todoroki doesn’t need to know that.

Todoroki nods. “Would you like to...” he trails off, swallowing and looking to the side. “Would you care to join me on a walk?” he asks, a faint red flush coming to his cheeks. “I’ve been told there’s a walking path through part of the woods,” he continues. Izuku blinks, then smiles.

“Sure!” he says, grinning wider when Todoroki looks up at him, eyes widening slightly. “I’d love to, Todoroki,” Izuku says, and Todoroki returns his grin with a small smile of his own. 

“Great,” Todoroki says, resting one hand on the lockers beside him. “I’ll see you tonight, then?” he asks, and Izuku nods.

“See you then!” Izuku says, and when he goes to take his shower, his heart feels a little lighter in his chest. 

\--

Izuku meets Todoroki in the common area for their dorms just after they’ve both finished eating. The air inside smells salty and thick, like miso soup and fried rice, and Izuku is wearing casual clothing, a long sleeved grey shirt that says ‘shirt’ on it in katakana and his favorite pair of cargo shorts. Todoroki is dressed in a white t-shirt, a pair of well-fitting black jeans, and leather boots that Izuku’s seen him wearing before. He’s waiting by the door when Izuku walks up to him, waving.

“Hey, Todoroki!” Izuku says, grinning. “Sorry that took me so long. I wanted to load my dish in the dishwasher before I left, but it had clean dishes in it, so I had to put those up,” he explains, gesturing with his hands. Todoroki gives him a slight smile, shaking his head.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, turning and placing his hand on the door handle. “Are you ready?” he asks, glancing back over his shoulder. Izuku nods.

“Yup!” he answers, and Todoroki opens the door. “Have you been to the wooded part of campus before?” Izuku asks as they step outside. The air is warm but not unpleasantly so, and it smells like pine trees and damp soil. Izuku steps forward so he’s walking beside Todoroki as they head down the stairs, toward the woods. The sun hasn’t completely set, yet, and the sky is cast in bright pink and orange hues, the lights of the sunset streaking across the stairs, dappled with black shade where the glow is filtered through the trees. Todoroki shakes his head.

“No, I haven’t,” he says, looking at Izuku. “Have you?” Izuku nods. 

“Yeah, Aizawa-sensei had me do some stealth training here last term,” he says, turning toward the path that he’d seen on the night he stashed his things in the hollowed-out tree. “I haven’t walked on the path itself, though. How’d you hear about it?” he asks, cocking his head to the side.

Todoroki hums under his breath, tipping his head back slightly to look at the sky. “Present Mic-sensei mentioned it to me, actually. I was asking him if there would be any English assignments between terms.” Izuku blinks, then frowns.

“W-Wait, there isn’t, right?” Izuku asks, swallowing. Todoroki looks over to him, then chuckles, shaking his head again.

“No, there isn’t,” Todoroki says as Izuku leads them onto the start of the path. The gravel that makes up the path glitters in the light of the sunset, coloring what would normally be tan earth into something like a peach color, sparkling and pretty. 

“Oh, thank goodness,” Izuku says, breathing a sigh of relief. Todoroki nods beside him.

“That’s how I felt, as well,” he says. “I want to focus on my training during this time. I need to get my provisional license,” he says, voice getting firmer and more serious near the end. Izuku can’t help the way his lips twitch down at the mention of the license, and he sighs, biting at his lower lip.

“I don’t think Aizawa is going to be able to convince them that I should be allowed to take it,” Izuku admits. “I mean, they have a point. I don’t  _ technically _ need the license, legally. It just really sucks for my career.” He kicks at the gravel, sending a small spray of it flying. He can feel Todoroki’s gaze on the side of his face, but he keeps looking at the ground.

“You could tell them about your future sight quirk,” Todoroki says, voice light but not joking. Izuku looks up at him, quirking an eyebrow up.

“Todoroki, I keep telling you, I don’t have anything like that,” Izuku responds, sighing. Todoroki stares back at him with a straight face, blinking.

“You could lie, then,” he says, and it catches Izuku so off guard that he stumbles, barely catching his balance before he falls to the ground. Todoroki’s hands shoot out, as if to catch him, but Izuku’s righting himself before a second has even passed, laughing and shaking his head.

“What on earth?” Izuku asks, staring incredulously at Todoroki. Behind him, the pine trees rustle softly in the breeze. Izuku can see the sun, fat and round, resting on the horizon. It’s the color of egg yolk, orange-yellow and huge.

“I mean,” Todoroki says, tilting his head slightly to the side. “You might have a quirk, right? You should tell them that you could be using a quirk without knowing, so you need the license just in case.” He shrugs. “Or you could just tell them you’ve manifested an analysis quirk or a foresight quirk, like the one you’re hiding.” Izuku ignores the last part.

“That’s... actually not a bad idea,” Izuku says, chewing at the dead skin on his bottom lip. “I would be getting the license for any quirk I might have but not be aware of, not for any specific quirk. I don’t have the extra toe joint, so that could actually work...” Izuku brings a hand to his chin, holding it. “I’d have to ask Aizawa-sensei to relay the message, and he’d have to do a good job of presenting it to the commission, but it’s a valid point. I’ll need to look through the records to see if there’s any kind of a precedent. There’s obviously not a quirkless case, but--” 

“Midoriya,” Todoroki says, a smile on his face and amusement in his voice. “You’re muttering,” he says, and Izuku blinks, pulling his hand away from his face and feeling his cheeks flush red.

“Oh!” he says, glancing away in embarrassment. “Sorry, I didn’t mean--” he starts, but Todoroki shakes his head, cutting him off.

“It’s okay,” Todoroki says. “I like it.” He gives Izuku a warm look, then turns to look in the direction they’re walking once again. Izuku smiles, feeling a different sort of warmth wash over him as he walks beside his friend. He glances up again, at the sky, and he can see some glittering stars starting to peek through on the side of the sky opposite the lazy sun. Izuku knows he’ll be tired later, when he goes out as Ace, but for now, it’s worth it to have this time. 

\--

The moon is a thin sliver that hangs in the sky, a bright slice out of the navy-blue backdrop. Izuku stands at the edge of a roof, looking out on the world. Below him, the city of Musutafu glitters in multicolor, the signs of the businesses and the golden glow of the streetlamps contrasting to the cool tone of the sky. It’s a very different kind of beautiful than the woods had been, earlier, but Izuku likes it just the same. He jumps from the roof, onto the fire escape below, and makes his way toward his destination.

He’s in his old costume, since Miura had told him to wait a bit to use the new one, but frankly, he’s excited to make the switch. He’d peeked at it, found the pieces of the costume alongside some formal clothing that Miura’s note had said were for meetings. The clothes and weapons are all personalized and tailored in a way that nothing Izuku has ever owned has been. Izuku moves down onto the street below, taking the sidewalk towards where he knows Death Arms’ agency is. 

Even though Aizawa had warned them all that he had patrol early mornings on weekdays, Izuku still finds himself surprised to see his teacher on the streets, his white capture scarf catching the pale light of the moon as Izuku walks towards him. It’s been so long since Izuku has been out as Ace that it takes him a second to remember the easy confidence he tries to give off as the vigilante, and he slides his hands into his pockets, putting a smile on under his mask as he walks up to Aizawa. The pro is staring down at him, and Izuku thinks he can take a little risk here.

“Hey, Eraserhead,” he says, stopping a few feet away from his teacher. “I haven’t seen you in a while. Have you been on vacation?”  _ If I’ve been busy, Aizawa should have been, too. It doesn’t mean he wasn’t patrolling, but... _

“Something like that,” Aizawa deadpans, turning to face Izuku fully, staring at him through golden goggles. “I haven’t seen you on the news at all, either,” he says, and Izuku shrugs.

“There just hasn’t been anything interesting enough to get myself caught on camera for,” Izuku says. “With Kamino and all that, more heroes have been out, anyway.” Aizawa nods, seemingly satisfied.

“You’ve been staying away from the villain groups?” he asks, and Izuku swallows. He hopes Aizawa doesn’t notice.

“Something like that,” Izuku answers, shrugging as he echoes Aizawa’s earlier words. He can see Aizawa’s eyes narrowing behind the goggles. “I gotta go, anyway. I’ll see you later, Eraser!” he says, before turning to the nearest alleyway and hopping over to a fire escape. He knows full well that he’s not going fast enough to actually evade Aizawa if the man wanted to catch him, but Izuku doesn’t hear anything to indicate someone's following him as he hauls himself back up onto the roof. It sucks, since going by ground might be quicker, but Izuku turns, moving along the rooftops.  _ I’ll have to go a roundabout way, so Aizawa doesn’t track me. _

As Izuku jumps from rooftop to rooftop, he thinks about what he’s doing, exactly. He feels the way his feet slap against the concrete of the roofs, the way the warmth still lingering from the daytime clings to him through his costume. He smells the gasoline-and-rain smell that the city tends to have on nights like these, hears the buzz of cars and the muffled beat from clubs. 

Izuku’s plenty aware of what’s going on around him, but he’s still in his head, his thoughts swirling and poking at him. He imagines himself going to Death Arm’s agency, breaking in a back door (would he pick a lock? Unscrew the hinges?) and sneaking through a dark hallway. Izuku doesn’t know if there would be security cameras or an alarm, but he doesn’t think it’d really matter, anyway. He’d find the files for the quirk counseling, and he’d read them. He’d run his eyes along the lines of text, memorizing like he does for school, and then he’d kill himself. He’d go home and write it all down before he forgets, stash it away somewhere that nobody would find, and then next weekend, he’d give the information to the Gekkeiju. 

Izuku would give the information to the Gekkeiju, and then they might see someone’s name on the list, might see a child’s quirk, and they might like it too much. They might tell Izuku to find that child’s address, to learn their routine. They might ask him to kidnap them, or maybe they wouldn’t trust him to be able to do something like that so early on. Maybe they’d send somebody else, and then one day, Izuku would go down to the basement and there’d be another room with a crayon drawing taped to the outside. Maybe he’d go to visit Mouse and find another terrified child in a filthy, soot-covered room. Maybe there’d be a child there, because of him.

Izuku slides to a stop on the roof he’s running along. He drops into a crouch, looking over the edge, at the building that he recognizes as Death Arm’s agency. He can see from here that the hinges of the doors are all on the outside--he could unscrew them, easily. He doesn’t see any exterior cameras, either, doesn’t see any signs indicating a security system. Izuku knows he could break in. He knows he could complete his mission without getting caught. It would be easy.

But he doesn’t. Izuku crouches there until the muscles in his legs burn from squatting, until his feet fall asleep, his toes tingling with pins and needles, but he doesn’t go to the door. He doesn’t jump from the rooftop, and he doesn’t break in. He can’t bring himself to.

It’s only when he starts to see the faint edge of sunlight peeking up in the east that he resigns himself to it. Izuku turns around to head back to UA, his limbs stiff and sore. His heart is heavy as he crosses the city from above, but he thinks it’s not quite as heavy as it would be, if he’d actually done what he set out to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: implied/referenced child abuse, talk about drug overdose
> 
> [discord!](https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt)
> 
> i hope you enjoyed!!!!! i had a lot of fun writing this one, even though i feel like some of the bits are a little rushed. school starts again tomorrow for me after nearly 2 weeks off from the emergencies, and it feels so strange. i feel like they should just cancel the semester at this point lol


	54. provisional license exam prep, part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku talks with monoma, goes for a walk with todoroki, helps his mom move into her new office at UA, and doesn't break into the building he's supposed to

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GAMERS UR LOOKING POG AF TODAY school sucks and is overrated can i be a rich YA novel author already

When Neito shows up at his door later that week, Izuku isn’t exactly surprised. As soon as he sees his friend, blonde hair damp like he’d just finished showering, he smiles, opening the door wider. 

“Neito,” Izuku says, stepping to the side so his friend can walk inside. “How’re you?” Neito steps inside, answering as Izuku pulls the door shut behind him.

“As well as can be expected,” Neito answers, a frown on his face as he raises a hand to dramatically push his bangs out of his face. “I’m doomed to fail this exam, though,” he sighs, shaking his head. “I can’t come up with a super move for the life of me.” Izuku nods, smiling sympathetically.

“Me neither,” Izuku says, taking a few steps back before flopping onto his bed. “Do you wanna play cards again? It was fun last time,” he says, feeling the bed compress next to him as Neito takes a seat. 

“Only because I went easy on you with the questions,” Neito scoffs, pulling the cards out from his shorts pocket. “I’m not going to hold back this time,” he says, narrowing his eyes at Izuku. 

“Well, you won’t have to if I win,” Izuku says, shrugging. “Blackjack again?” he asks, watching as Neito shifts so he’s sitting crosslegged on the bed, facing Izuku.

“Yup,” Neito says, popping the  _ p _ . He starts to shuffle the cards, moving quickly. “What’s your death count at for this week?” he asks as he flips the cards. Izuku squints at him.

“Shouldn’t you save that for if you win?” Izuku points out, and Neito shrugs.

“If it was zero, you’d just say that, wouldn’t you?” he asks, dealing himself and Izuku each two cards, one face up and the other face down. Izuku has a face-up four of spades, while Neito has a ten of diamonds. Izuku bites at his lip and picks up his cards.  _ Ace of spades, huh? _ He swallows.  _ With a fifteen or five, I should hit. _

“Hit, please,” Izuku says, and Neito nods, gesturing with his free hand at the deck. Izuku pulls a card from the top. It’s a jack of clubs. 

“I’m hitting as well,” Neito says, pulling another card from the deck. He tucks it into his hand, his eyes narrowing, then shutting as he sighs, dropping his cards. “Bust,” he says, leaning back. Izuku glances down at the cards, a ten, a seven, and a five.

“Truth or dare?” Izuku asks with a smile, glancing up at Neito. Neito sighs, rolling his eyes and tipping his head back. 

“Truth, I guess,” he says, tone heavy with fake annoyance. Izuku isn’t fooled--he can see the smile on Neito’s face.

“Have you told anyone about me?” Izuku asks. Neito blinks, and Izuku shrugs. “You said you weren’t gonna hold back, so I won’t, either.” Neito glances to the side.

“I haven’t told anybody about your quirk,” he says, “but I’ve talked to Vlad-sensei a little. I just said I was worried about a friend, but I didn’t give any specifics.” He swallows, glancing at Izuku, meeting his eyes. “That’s fine, isn’t it?”

Izuku blinks, then nods, hesitantly. “I... I couldn’t ask you not to,” he says, grimacing. “I know it isn’t fair of me to rely on you like this.”

Neito raises an eyebrow. “I’m the one who keeps coming back, aren’t I?” he says, quirking the edge of his lips up. “You haven’t forced me into this. Even with the training camp, that was Muscular’s fault, not either of ours.” He grabs the deck of cards, dealing them both another hand. Izuku’s face-up card is an ace, and Neito’s is a seven. 

Izuku picks up his hand. “I like that you keep coming back,” he says, giving Neito a bright smile. Neito narrows his eyes at him, but Izuku can see him turn slightly red.

“You just like to beat me at cards,” Neito says, glancing down at his hand. “Do you want another card?” he asks, and Izuku checks his own hand, that ace and a six. 

“Yes, please,” Izuku says, giving Neito a smile and a nod. Neito passes him a card, then takes one for himself. It’s an eight, and Izuku bites at his lip.  _ I’ll chance it, _ he thinks.

“Another one, please,” Izuku says, and Neito nods, passing another over. It’s a nine; Izuku sets his cards down.

“Bust?” Neito asks, looking down at them. “Damn, what a waste of a 21,” he says, setting down his own seven, five, and nine. “It means it’s my turn, though,” he says, a slight smile on his face. “Truth or dare?”

Izuku nods. “Truth,” he says, since that’s what Neito started with. Neito nods.

“How many times have you killed yourself since Saturday? Don’t count the one I saw,” he says, gathering their discarded cards into a stack. Even though he isn’t looking directly at Izuku, Izuku’s well aware that he’s paying full attention.

“Um,” Izuku says, swallowing. “Monday night, and then yesterday,” he says, biting at his lower lip. “I haven’t yet today.” Neito sighs.

“Good,” he says. “Are you going to later?” he asks, dealing out the next hand of cards. Izuku swallows.

“That’s two questions,” he points out, and Neito glances up at him sharply, his lips tugging into a thin line. “But no,” Izuku adds, quietly. “Not if you want me not to.”

Neito sighs, meeting Izuku’s eyes. “I don’t want you to kill youself  _ ever _ ,” he says, quietly. “But I’ll settle for you not doing it tonight.” Izuku picks up his hand, glances at the cards.

“I won’t even make you use a dare,” Izuku says, a smile creeping up on his lips. It works, because Neito snorts and rolls his eyes.

“So generous,” he says, voice full of amused sarcasm. “How will I ever repay you?” he asks, then gestures to the deck. Izuku shakes his head, and they both flip their hands over.

“You can start by picking truth or dare,” Izuku says, giggling. His ace and king combo solidly beats Neito’s pair of queens. Neito groans, dropping his cards, but they’re both smiling wide.

\--

When Izuku steps out of the train station and into the bright afternoon light, it feels unfair, considering what he’s here for. He’s wearing the white button down, black slacks, and dark green vest that Miura had given him to wear to the base, with the black tie tucked into his pocket. He’d tried for about half an hour to get it tied properly before deciding that no tie was better than a messily tied one. Even though it’s lighter than his UA uniform would be, it’s still too warm for this weather, and Izuku can feel himself already starting to sweat as he hurries along the sidewalk, walking quickly. 

Izuku pushes through the people on the streets, hoping that nobody looks at him for too long. He’s sure that the formal clothing that isn’t a school uniform helps somewhat, but he’s all too aware of the fact that his face has been on national television. If someone recognizes him as a UA student here, it might not matter that he’s kept the address of the base private. He almost wishes he was in his Ace costume instead, but he knows that’s not an option, either. 

He can see the building before he actually reaches it. It’s seven stories tall, which isn’t this unusual for this city, but the long windows and reflective, mirrored glass is familiar. Izuku had seen it from the outside when Clean took him to the payphone after his release, so he knows what to look for, even if he’d only seen it briefly. It doesn’t feel quite as terrifying now as it did then, when he was wearing his bloodied clothing and exhausted from being in that place for so long, but that doesn’t stop Izuku from feeling a tingle of anxiety as he walks up to the tower, setting his hand on the door and pushing it open. 

The interior of the first floor is much the same as it had been when he was here as a prisoner. The room is brightly lit, with the natural light filtering through the windows mixing with the lights hanging from the ceiling. The dark haired woman from before, Yamamoto, is sitting behind a reception desk, just like before. Izuku walks up to her, but she doesn’t look up from the computer.

“Midoriya,” she greets, nodding her head slightly without looking at him. “You’ll be seeing Lord Fury, today,” she says, reaching to type something out on the keyboard. “He’s expecting you. Second door to the right, third floor.” 

Izuku blinks. “T-Thanks,” he says, and Yamamoto nods.

“I’ll let him know you’re on your way up,” she replies, voice calm and even. Izuku swallows, walking towards where he knows the elevators to the upper floors are. It’s strange, being allowed to move through the building like he’s one of them now.  _ That’s because I am, _ he reminds himself, glancing over to the little television area to his left. The television is on and muted, just like before, but the news doesn’t have anything Izuku hadn’t already read this morning before leaving for the train, and there doesn’t seem to be anyone sitting on the couch. Izuku isn’t sure if he’s glad that Manami isn’t there or if he’s disappointed.  _ At least she’s reliable _ , he muses as he stops in front of the elevators, pressing the call button.  _ She’ll kill me if I mess up, and she’ll do it quickly. _

The elevator chimes softly, the stainless steel doors sliding open. Izuku steps into the space and presses the button for the third floor. He can hear his breathing in the small space, and he forces himself to breathe slowly and evenly, like he isn’t nervous to see Fury again.  _ If something goes wrong, I just kill myself and do it again,  _ he reminds himself, but the thought somehow isn’t a comforting one. Izuku isn’t sure he wants to have to face Fury more than once. 

The doors of the elevator open, too soon for Izuku to be comfortable with it. He takes a deep, steadying breath and steps into the hallway. It looks ordinary in all respects, if a bit fancy. The floor is the same polished marble as the first floor, and the walls are painted a rich navy blue. It looks, for all intents and purposes, like a very fancy office building; there are hallways stretching out to the left, right, and in front of Izuku, and there are a number of rooms off of each one. At the end of each hall, he can see the floor to ceiling windows that seem to cover the building. 

“Second door to the right,” Izuku whispers to himself as he turns to the right, walking down the hallway. His shoes tap against the marble floor, echoing in the space. He can feel his pulse in his throat, fast and hard, even though he wants to tell himself that he’s perfectly calm, that he’s not nervous about this. That part of him isn’t excited.

The second door to the right is simple, a plain, hardwood door in the same color as the flooring on the seventh floor. There’s a small, plexiglass window in the door, but it’s covered from the inside with a navy blue curtain. Izuku swallows, raising a hand and knocking on the door twice with his knuckles. Almost immediately, he hears a reply.

“Come in,” Fury says, his voice barely audible through the thick door. Izuku thinks it must be solid wood, which would be  _ expensive _ . He bites at his bottom lip, then places his hand on the door knob and turns it, pushing the door in. It opens easily, the hinges silent and smooth. Izuku swallows, glancing around the room before he takes a step inside.

It’s a fairly small room, with a thick, blue carpet the same color as the walls in the hallway. The walls are painted a cream color, but it’s different than the one in the basement. The walls are decorated with paintings depicting the ocean, ships and lighthouses and the sea in a storm. The back wall is all window, showing a view of a park that must be behind the Gekkeiju building. Inside the room, there’s a low table, with plush, black armchairs on either side, and it smells strongly of cigarette smoke. Fury is sitting in the one facing to the right, and he’s wearing a pair of black slacks and a white button-down that matches Izuku’s. His waistcoat, though, is a warm amber-gold, the same color as his eyes, and his black tie is tied neatly. He’s wearing his usual pair of dark sunglasses, and when Izuku walks in the room, his eyes follow him, a smirk creeping up his face.

“Midoriya,” Fury says, leaning one elbow on the arm of his chair and leaning his face against his hand. “Or should I call you Ace?” He gestures to the chair across from him, on the other side of the table. “Have a seat.”

Izuku swallows, taking the few steps to close the distance between himself and the chair. He sits on the edge of it, holding himself stiff and still so that he doesn’t shake. He can see Fury’s eyes, shadowed by his glasses, move to look him over.

“Where’s your tie?” he asks, tipping his head to the side. “I know Sumire gave you one.” Izuku blinks, reaching into his pocket and pulling it out.

“I, um, I couldn’t tie it,” Izuku replies, feeling his face flush slightly in embarrassment that only grows worse when Fury chuckles under his breath, clicking his tongue. He stands up, and Izuku flinches reflexively. Fury raises an eyebrow at him, then makes his way around the table. Izuku swallows, scooting back in his chair slightly as Fury moves to stand in front of him. Izuku is shorter than Fury normally, but with him seated and Fury standing, the difference in their heights is even more obvious, and it makes Izuku’s heart jump into his throat. Fury holds a hand out.

“Hand it over,” he says, and Izuku blinks. “Your tie,” Fury clarifies, an annoyed tone to his voice. He shakes his hand impatiently, and Izuku swallows, reaching up and dropping his tie in Fury’s hand. Fury takes it, holding it out and scowling at it before pressing it to his leg, like he’s trying to smooth out the wrinkles. Izuku watches as he takes the tie, then reaches for Izuku. Izuku swallows but holds still, only twitching slightly as Fury reaches around his neck to loop the tie around. His hands move to the front of Izuku’s throat, and Izuku is sure he can feel Izuku’s too fast pulse as he ties the tie in quick, neat movements. Izuku doesn’t breathe until Fury pulls away, smirking at Izuku.

“There, you look much better, now,” he says, eyes narrowing behind his glasses. He takes a step back, sitting on the edge of the low coffee table and crossing his legs over one another. Even with him sitting, they’re so close that their knees almost touch, and Izuku scoots back in the chair, pressing into the back of the chair. He knows Fury sees it, but all Fury does is smile and reach into the pocket of his slacks, pulling out a box of cigarettes and a slim, silver lighter. He takes a cigarette from the box, placing it between his lips and lighting it before tucking the box and the lighter back into his pocket.

“You don’t might if I smoke, do you?” Fury asks, his lips curled up at the edges as he takes a drag off his cigarette, blowing the smoke into Izuku’s face. Izuku screws his eyes up against it, fighting the urge to cough. “Now, your report?” Fury asks, tapping his nails against the wood of the table with the hand that isn’t fiddling with his cigarette.

Izuku swallows. “I-I don’t have anything to report,” he says, quietly. He watches one of Fury’s eyebrows climb his forehead, his lips dropping into a scowl.

“You didn’t get the information you were asked for?” He asks, pulling his cigarette from his mouth and sighing. 

“N-No,” Izuku confirms, swallowing. He can taste smoke on the back of his tongue. “I-I found the agency, but I couldn’t get any information,” he says. Fury glares at him with narrowed eyes.

“God, you’re fucking  _ useless _ ,” he snarls. “Did you even try? Or did you chicken out?” Fury asks, rapping his nails on the wood of the table more quickly, more forcefully. “I’ll make this clear now,” Fury says, leaning forward and staring at Izuku through dark glass. “You don’t get to pick and choose which missions you do. If you can’t or won’t complete them on time, you’re going to suffer for it.” 

“R-Right,” Izuku replies, his throat tight. “It won’t happen again,” he says, and Fury snorts.

“Damn right it won’t,” he says, putting his cigarette to his lips and sucking in a breath of air. The tip of the cigarette glows amber-bright as he pulls it away from his face, blowing the smoke out slowly. 

“Roll up your sleeve,” Fury says, voice low. Izuku blinks.

“W-What?” he asks, and Fury’s face drops into a scowl.

“You heard me,” he says, looking at Izuku with disdain. “Roll up your sleeve, or it’ll be your face, instead,” he says, and Izuku swallows. He unbuttons the cuff of his dress shirt on his left arm, rolling it up to just below the self harm scars on his elbow. Fury sticks his cigarette back in his mouth, then reaches forward, grabbing Izuku’s wrist with his left hand and tugging his sleeve up further with his right. His fingers are hot on Izuku’s skin, squeezing the bones in Izuku’s wrist together, and Izuku hisses, instinctively trying to pull back as Fury yanks his sleeve up, revealing Izuku’s scars. Fury stares.

“You’re like my sister,” he says, amusement in his voice as his right hand trails down Izuku’s arm, pressing into the freshly healed scars. “Do they still hurt?” he asks as his fingers dig into the flesh. “Or have they healed too much for that already?” His grip on Izuku’s wrist is bruisingly tight, and Izuku can’t help but squirm.

“T-They don’t hurt,” he says, truthfully, but Fury digs his fingers into the flesh of Izuku’s bicep all the same. He grins wide when Izuku tries to jerk his arm away.

“They will,” Fury says, like it’s a promise. His right hand moves to his mouth, pulling the cigarette out and holding it between two fingers. Smoke curls from the cherry at the tip, and Izuku clenches his jaw tight, knowing what’s going to happen even before it does. Fury moves his hand, holding the cigarette above Izuku’s bicep for a moment before he presses it to Izuku’s skin. There’s a faint hissing noise, and Izuku bites his tongue through the sharp, hot spot of pain on his arm. Fury presses the cigarette there for a moment longer, then pulls back. In its place, there’s a blistering dot of red and white skin. 

“Hmm,” Fury hums, putting the cigarette back in his mouth. “Not as bad as you thought, was it, brat?” he asks as the pricking, sharp pain fades into a dull, strong burning sensation. Izuku swallows the saliva that’s started to pool in his mouth. Fury reaches back into his pocket, pulling out the lighter and flicking it on, holding it up to the cigarette he’s holding in his lips. Izuku tries to pull his arm out of Fury’s grip, but he can’t, not with the way he’s holding him so tightly that Izuku’s fingers are starting to fall asleep. 

“Tell me how it felt,” Fury says around his cigarette, and Izuku looks up to see him watching Izuku with a scowl on his face. Izuku swallows. 

“I-It hurt,” he says, and Fury sighs, rolling his eyes. He pulls air through his cigarette, then pulls it from his mouth and brings it to the skin under the last mark, just above Izuku’s elbow. Izuku hisses at the sharp pain and the heat.

“You can do better than that,” Fury grumbles, twisting and pressing the cigarette into Izuku’s flesh. Izuku squirms, gritting his teeth together against the sharp, burning pain that seems to radiate through his whole arm. 

“I-It’s hot,” Izuku says, struggling back, his body knocking into the back of the chair. “It f-feels like my skin is melting,” he hisses out. “And it’s--it’s spreading through the whole area.” Izuku lets out a breath when Fury pulls the cigarette away, glancing at it. He lets Izuku’s wrist go, and Izuku jerks his arm back, cradling it against his chest. Fury considers the cigarette, then takes out his lighter and lights it, the lighter flame flickering as the air conditioning comes on in the room.

“Do you understand, kid?” Fury asks, looking at Izuku through his glasses as he places the cigarette back in his mouth. “That’s letting you off easy, as far as I’m concerned. Next time you show up without having completed your job, it’ll be a lot worse,” he says, a hint of laughter in his voice. 

“I-I understand,” Izuku replies back, quietly. He tugs at his sleeve, trying to pull it back down over his burns, but Fury reaches out, lightning quick. 

“Wait,” he says, his voice sharp. “I’m not done with you yet. That was just your punishment for being useless,” he says, his eyes narrowing at Izuku through his glasses. Izuku isn’t sure which eye is worse to look at--his right, with the milky white tone and the strange shape, or his left, golden with the sunburst pattern that just makes Izuku think about his quirk. Izuku swallows, looking down at his arm, instead. Fury’s hand is gripping his forearm, just above where his wrist is already starting to bruise. The two circular burns are bright, angry red, and the skin around them is starting to swell. 

“Oh,” Izuku says, voice dull. He feels like he’s zooming out from the world. Everything feels distant except the hot, burning sensation in his arm. Fury smiles, a grin that shows his teeth.

“What’s the worst pain you’ve ever been in?” Fury asks, his voice light, like he’s talking to a friend. Izuku doesn’t have to think about his answer.

“Your quirk,” Izuk answers, and Fury raises an eyebrow, hums.

“Mm, that’s interesting,” Fury says, leaning back and taking a drag from his cigarette. “Considering that I’ve never used ‘Hell’ on you.” Izuku thinks he’d be freezing up in fear or something, if he didn’t feel so foggy. He swallows.

“You would have, in one of the futures,” Izuku says. “I feel what would have happened when I use my quirk.” Fury stares back at him. The end of the cigarette glows brightly. 

“Interesting,” Fury says. He blows a mouthful of smoke downward. “Second worst, then.” He taps his free hand, the left one, against the table. Izuku glances down at it, then at his own wrist. He can see Fury’s fingers mirrored in the shape of the bruise. 

“Being burned,” Izuku says. He remembers the feeling of Kacchan’s quirk on his arms, the feeling of being burned alive in the USJ attack. He remembers Todoroki’s quirk, remembers the way his skin felt as it boiled. Compared to those times, the cigarette burns don’t really hurt at all.

“Oh, really?” Fury says, leaning back slightly. “Looks like I’ve already used that one, then,” he says, mock disappointment in his tone. His mouth curves into a vicious grin, and he leans forward again, reaching a hand out for Izuku’s face. Izuku jerks his head back, out of the way of his grip, and Fury sighs, shaking his head. 

“Izuku,” he coos, scooting forward on the table, so he’s closer to Izuku, their legs touching at the knees. “You know I’m doing this for your own good, right?” 

“D-Don’t call me that,” Izuku says, but it comes out as almost a whisper. His throat feels tight. “You d-don’t get to call me by my given name.” Fury clicks his tongue, reaching out again as Izuku pulls back. There’s nowhere for Izuku to go, though, not without attacking Fury, and he doesn’t dare. 

“See,  _ Izuku _ ,” Fury starts, putting his hand on Izuku’s cheek. “You don’t have experience working in the criminal world. Things work differently, here.” His hand moves down to Izuku’s jaw, and his fingers press into the bone. “If you don’t learn quickly, you won’t last very long.” He tips Izuku’s jaw up, forcing Izuku to look into his eyes through the sunglasses. “This is just the best way for you to learn.” Izuku swallows. He doesn’t feel quite as fuzzy, quite as unfocused. 

“Don’t call me by my given name,” Izuku repeats, and Fury  _ laughs _ , tipping his head back and cackling. His grip on Izuku’s jaw is painful.

“Hold still,” he says, voice a low growl through his teeth as his other hand comes up to Izuku’s mouth, hovering over it. “If you don’t, I’ll hurt Mouse instead.” Izuku stiffens, and Fury laughs again. “What, you think I didn’t notice that you were fond of her? You’re such an amatuer, Izuku.”

His voice lowers in volume as he presses his hand to Izuku’s mouth and nose in a smooth motion, shoving Izuku’s head back against the back of the armchair. Izuku tries to suck in a breath of air, but his eyes widen as he realizes that he can’t breathe, not with Fury’s hand squeezing his nose shut and covering his mouth. Izuku squirms, trying to move his head back to get away from Fury’s hand, but he can’t. A shout rises in his throat, but it’s smothered by Fury’s palm as Izuku resists the urge to try and pull Fury’s hands away from his face.

“Shh,” Fury whispers, his other hand moving down to press Izuku’s shoulder into the armchair. “I told you to hold still, didn’t I?” Izuku swallows, trying to force himself to hold still.  _ I have to endure this. For Mouse, _ he tells himself. Fury smiles, and his face looks almost gentle. Izuku wishes he hadn’t been on the exhale when Fury started to smother him, because Izuku can already feel the desperate burn in his lungs, can already see the fuzziness growing in the edges of his vision. It doesn't stop him from seeing Fury move the hand that isn’t choking Izuku up to his own face, pulling at his sunglasses. Izuku slams his eyes shut, and he hears Fury laugh, loud and bright. Izuku’s lungs ache for air.

“Open your eyes, Izuku,” Fury says, his voice sharp. “You listen to me, understood? When I give you an order, you obey it.” His voice is a mixture of anger and laughter that makes Izuku’s stomach roll in his belly. “You obey my orders, or both you and the kid will suffer. So open your eyes.” 

And Izuku does. His lungs burn with bright, sucking pain, like they’re being pulled in on themselves, and he braces himself for worse as he opens up, looking into Fury’s golden eye. But instead of pain, he feels his body swell with warmth, with the feeling of peace and comfort and safety. He feels amazing, like he’s walking on air, like he’s sinking into a warm bath, like he’s bleeding out, and he feels the tension drain from his shoulders. It doesn’t matter that he’s out of air any more, that his lungs are screaming for him to take a breath. Izuku relaxes, going limp in Fury’s gaze, and he vaguely can hear Fury laugh as his hand is pulled back. 

Izuku gasps for breath, and Fury reaches to his face, pulling the sunglasses back up over his eyes. The pain comes back to Izuku in a rush, just like before, and the only think he can think about is the way that his chest is burning, the way the exposed, burned skin on his left arm stings and prickles as he doubles over, gasping in loud, desperate breaths. His head aches like it’s been struck with a hammer, and he can feel his pulse behind his eyes. 

“See?” Fury says, and Izuku squeezes his eyes shut at the pain the noise sends through his skull. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Izuku coughs weakly into his lap, letting himself rest on his knees. He can see Fury’s feet, along with the floor below. A hand comes down on the hand of his head, and Izuku flinches violently. The contact itself is painful, like his nerves are crying out at him, but the pain only grows as Fury yanks him up by his hair, pulling him back into a sitting position. 

He watches him with a smile, his eyes behind glasses again. “Go to your room. You remember where it is, right?” Fury says, his eyes narrowing. “Fourth floor. Your villain name should be on the doorplate by now. I want to see you again tomorrow morning.” His eyes flicker down to Izuku’s arm. “Don’t cover them up when you come to see me.” He releases his grip on Izuku’s hair, but Izuku manages to stay upright, even though his vision is warping and swirling.

Izuku swallows. “Y-Yes sir,” he says, quietly, and Fury smirks.

“Good, good,” he says, leaning back and folding his arms over his chest. “You’re learning.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: graphic torture (burning, suffocation), manipulation, abuse
> 
> [discord!](https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt)
> 
> i hope you enjoyed!!! ik some ppl were concerned about romance and i will say that *if* romance happens in this fic, it won't be a main focus and certainly it won't happen any time soon. i'd rather the fic focuses on having healthy, well developed platonic relationships, especially given what izuku is going through


	55. provisional license exam prep, part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku and neito play cards, also fury tortured izuku or something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi gamers today's been tough maybe some whump will make me feel better (this chapter is hot shit but that's okay)
> 
> (fic has been moved to explicit rating but it will NOT contain sexual content. the rating is for the violence/gore/torture)

When Izuku wakes up in the morning, alone in his room at the Gekkeiju base, his heart feels like a lump of cold ice in his chest. He takes out his phone, glancing at his messages with his mom from the night before. 

_ I can’t come home tonight, _ he’d said.  _ I’m safe, though.  _ His mom had replied nearly instantly.

_ Be careful, _ she’d sent.  _ Be safe. I love you. _ Izuku hadn’t been able to make himself reply in words, but he’d sent her a heart emoji instead. He’d gone to sleep, right after that, his head sinking heavily into the pillow on his bed. It doesn’t feel like his, even as he pulls himself out of the bed and sets his bare feet on the wooden floor. It’s just a room that he’s allowed to be in, a room that he can spend time in while he waits for Fury to hurt him more. 

Izuku steps quietly across the room, to the bathroom, flicking on the lights. The light spills across the tile floor, and Izuku has to squint in the brightness. He stares at his reflection in the mirror, all tangled dark green hair and bags under his eyes like bruises. There is a bruise on his jaw, just at the very bottom right edge. It looks like one he’s seen on Miura before, and for some reason, the thought makes him feel a little sick to his stomach. He raises his left arm to the light, grimacing at the sight of it. He’d taken his shirt off to sleep, too uncomfortable in his formal dress shirt, and so there’s nothing to hide the huge, hand-shaped bruise that wraps around his wrist and forearm. It’s swelled up and turned a dark mixture of reds and blues and violets, looking almost as if it’s broken. Izuku wonders if it might be.

The burns, by comparison, don’t look nearly as bad, even though they hurt far worse. The two matching red circles are in a line straight down his bicep to the crease just above his elbow, and the bottom one is deeper, more severe. The center of that one is white, waxy looking, and Izuku knows enough about burns to know that’s far worse than the blistering mark that is the top burn.  _ Third degree _ , his brain supplies helpfully. He wishes it wouldn’t.

There’s ash in both burns, but Izuku can’t bear to look at them any longer. He knows he should clean them, should dress the wounds, but he just can’t. Not to mention that Fury had ordered him not to cover them. Izuku wonders if Fury would use Heaven on him, if he obeys, or if he’d only use it as a punishment. Izuku doesn’t think it’s much of a penalty, really, even though he’d felt so awful afterwards. The thought of experiencing it again is just... Izuku lets his brain hover on it, for a moment, and it both soothes and unsettles him. The thing is, he  _ wants _ to feel it again. There’s nothing better, nothing that compares. His suicides and self harm over the past couple of weeks feel like nothing, now, like they can’t even come close to the quirk itself. 

Izuku doesn’t want to think about Fury’s quirk, any more. He uses the bathroom, then steps out of it, walking to his desk, where he’d discarded his button down. He pulls it on, wincing as the fabric rubs against his bruised wrist and burned upper arm, but he gets it on just fine, buttoning it all the way up. It’s wrinkled and creased from sitting unfolded on his desk all night, but Izuku can’t be bothered to care. He puts his vest on over it, but doesn’t even bother with the tie. If he couldn’t figure it out in the safety of his dorm room, he’s not going to be able to figure it out now, in this place. Especially not with the way his hands are shaking, the way his left arm is stiff and sore. 

Izuku realizes, as he shoves the tie into the pocket of his slacks, also wrinkled from being slept in, that he has no earthly idea where or when he’s supposed to meet Fury. He stands, facing his desk, his hands trembling. He knows he should check the burner phone, see if Fury’s texted him, but he doesn’t want to open it and see that he’s late. He doesn’t want to open it and see anything at all. 

Izuku forces himself to pick the flip phone up off the nightstand. He opens it, but there aren’t any messages. It’s just past nine in the morning, which makes sense given that Izuku can see light seeping through the curtain over the window. Just as Izuku is wondering if he should go to the first floor, ask Yamamoto what to do, he hears a knock at his door. Izuku swallows, reaching down and rolling up his sleeves. Fury had wanted to see the burns.

He walks to the door, his steps slow and even. His heart is hammering in his chest like a rabbit kicking frantically at the insides of his ribs. The doorknob is cool when he grabs it, reaching with one hand to unlock the door and using the other to turn the knob. Izuku has no illusions about the sanctity of that lock. Without a doubt, Fury has the key. He pulls the door open, blinking at the light that spills out from the hallway. In front of him, standing with his arms crossed over his chest, is Fury, wearing sunglasses and dressed in a tight t-shirt and a pair of jeans. He smiles when he sees Izuku, and Izuku hates the way just that smile is enough to make Izuku want to slip back into the room, want to shut the door behind him and press his full weight against the door as if that’d keep Fury out.

“Izuku,” Fury says, dropping his hands from his chest and reaching one out to touch Izuku’s shoulder. Izuku flinches. “Sleep well?” Fury asks, amusement in his voice. Izuku swallows.

“W-Well enough,” he says, his voice hoarse from not having spoken yet since waking up. Fury nods, and then he’s guiding Izuku out of his room with a firm grip on his shoulder. Izuku swallows heavily as he lets Fury push him along the hallway, toward the elevators. 

“You know, I’m actually going easy on you,” Fury says as he practically steers Izuku along, stopping him in front of the elevator and pressing the down button. “It’s good to get your training out of the way early, or some others might not be so lenient.” Izuku bites at his bottom lip, stepping onto the elevator before Fury can nudge him on. Fury follows close behind.

“Others?” Izuku asks, quietly, because he’d gotten the impression that the Gekkeiju was a relatively small organization. Fury nods, looking at Izuku from the sides of his eyes.

“Yeah. My sister, Sumire, and I are essentially the boss’s second in commands, but that doesn’t mean we’re the only ones who outrank  _ you _ ,” Fury says, then chuckles lowly under his breath. “In fact, aside from Mouse and Angel, you’d be hard pressed to find someone who doesn’t outrank you. If you did anything to disobey those people, well, it would be up to them to punish you accordingly.” Fury shrugs. “As long as you can still complete your missions, anything’s fair game.”

Izuku bites at his lip. “Like torture?” he says, quietly, bitterly. Fury blinks at him, then laughs, tipping his head back.

“Oh, you think  _ that _ was torture?” Fury asks, miming wiping a tear from one eye. “You poor, innocent child,” he says, shaking his head and chuckling. “No, no, you haven’t been tortured. That was just normal discipline when you’re a villain.” Izuku stares at him. The elevator stops on the third floor, the doors sliding open.

“Like I said, Izuku,” Fury says, stepping out into the hallway and heading to the right, to the room they were in yesterday. “I’m going quite easy on you. You should be grateful it’s not worse.” He opens the door, holding it open and gesturing for Izuku to go inside. Izuku takes a steadying breath before he walks into the room. It looks much the same as yesterday, what with the two armchairs and the low table, but one armchair is turned to face the door, and on the table beside it, there’s a white box. Izuku stands beside the door as Fury walks inside. He feels like his limbs are stiff, like he doesn’t have full control over them. 

“Sit,” Fury says, nodding his head to the chair facing the door. He turns away from Izuku, not waiting for him as he makes his way over to the coffee table, sitting on the edge just like last time. He pulls the white box onto his lap and opens it. Izuku can’t see the contents, but he feels sick anyway. Izuku walks to the chair and sits down. He feels naked, vulnerable. To his left, Fury hums, holding out a hand.

“Your arm,” Fury says, lightly, and Izuku swallows, squeezing his eyes shut. There’s no cigarette, no lighter, but Izuku is still braced for pain as he sets his left forearm in Fury’s grip. The gap between the arm of the chair and the table is almost nothing, so when Fury scoots the box to the side and rests Izuku’s arm on his lap, Izuku isn’t even stretching. Izuku watches as Fury pulls something from the box, a small packet. He tears it open, and the smell of alcohol permeates the room. 

“What?” Fury asks, a smirk on his lips as he rubs the alcohol wipe between his hands, cleaning them. “Not what you expected?” Izuku nods, dully. He watches as Fury sets the used alcohol wipe and its wrapper down on his other side, on the table, beside the box. Fury pulls out another packet, tears it open. He holds Izuku’s arm carefully, and he dabs at the two burns. The pain is nothing, compared to yesterday, and Izuku doesn’t even twitch.

“What are you...” Izuku trails off as Fury glances up at him, an eyebrow raised.

“What does it look like?” Fury quips back, looking back down at Izuku’s arm and frowning. “You didn’t even clean these,” he says, with a sigh. He presses the alcohol wipe more firmly into the second burn, and when he pulls away, Izuku can see a smear of grey ash on the wipe, mixed with pink traces of blood. Fury swipes the wipe over the wounds a few more times, then sets the wipe aside, next to the other one. He clicks his tongue, pulling a tube labelled in English out of the case next. Izuku watches as Fury unscrews the lid to the tube, squeezing a small amount of a yellow-tinted clear ointment onto the tip of his finger.

“If you clean them right away, I won’t have to use alcohol next time,” Fury says as he reaches up, dabbing the ointment onto Izuku’s burns. “They’ll heal better that way, too.” Izuku nods, the movement jerky, quick.

“W-Why are you--why are you doing this?” Izuku asks, swallowing around the lump in his throat. Fury chuckles under his breath, pulling a bandage out of the box and ripping open the paper covering on it.

“Would you rather I didn’t?” Fury asks as he presses the bandage over the top burn. “You’re important to us, Izuku. We want you to learn, but we don’t want you useless and broken.” He takes out another bandage, opens it, and presses it over the bottom burn. He pulls back, looking up at Izuku. His legs feel warm under Izuku’s arm, and it makes Izuku feel uneasy, but he doesn’t dare pull away from Fury, not after yesterday.

“You’ll have to get used to this,” Fury says, watching Izuku with half lidded eyes, shaded by his glasses. “When you choose to move into the world of crime, there are a lot of gifts. A lot of blessings.” Fury reaches down without looking, sets his fingers on the bruised, swollen skin of Izuku’s wrist. “But there are a lot of things you’ll lose, too. People, for instance,” he says, his lips pulling into a smirk. “The kid the League held onto was pretty smart,” Fury says, tilting his head slightly. “And I know you two were close. I wonder how long it’ll be before he figures out that you’re a traitor, hmm?” He smiles and looks back down at Izuku’s arm, lifting it and turning it over. He clicks his tongue.

“I don’t think there’s much I can do for this, sadly,” Fury says, shaking his head. “It’s what you get when you struggle, Izuku. Remember that.” He drops Izuku’s arm onto the arm of the chair, and Izuku swallows, looking up at Fury as he shuts the box--a first aid kit, most likely--and gathers the wrappers in his hand. He stands, moving to a garbage can that Izuku didn’t notice in the corner of the room, and Izuku stares at him. Izuku knows there’s no way that Fury can possibly know that Kacchan isn’t talking to him right now.  _ He’s just saying stuff,  _ he tells himself.  _ It doesn’t mean anything _ .

Except, even when Fury tells him he’s free to go, even when Izuku pulls his sleeves down and makes his way back to his room, gets his stuff, and goes down the elevator to the first floor, Izuku is still thinking about it.  _ Kacchan wouldn’t think I’m a traitor, right? He would believe I could get out on my own. He wouldn’t think I had to join them, _ he reassures himself. He tries not to think about how Kacchan knows about his quirk, to some extent, how Kacchan knows how Izuku is smart and quick and has a good reason to hate the world. He tries not to think about the way Kacchan hasn’t said a word to him other than to tell him to go away since they were both taken. 

Izuku tries not to think about it, but the seed is planted in his mind. As he walks down the sidewalk, as he takes the train back to UA, it sprouts and grows. Izuku has no choice.  _ I have to ask Kacchan myself.  _

\--

The dorms are loud, when Izuku gets back. It’s only about noon, and it seems like every member of 1-A is in the kitchen area, doing something with food or just hanging around. Izuku slips in through the door, wearing a long sleeved shirt and a pair of shorts he’d bought at a shopping center on the way back. The formal clothes were just too suspicious--Izuku will need to plan better, next time. 

Regardless of his clothing, all of the eyes in the room turn to look at him when he shuts the door behind him. It isn’t like it’s loud when he shuts the door, but the loud still echoes through the space, and once Jirou turns to look at him, Kaminari and Ashido do too, and that’s enough for Kirishima and Kacchan to turn, and at that point, well, it’s just obvious that everyone’s looking at him. Izuku can’t bring himself to look back at them, can’t make himself meet anyone’s eyes, but thankfully, someone else breaks the silence first.

“Deku!” Uraraka calls from her spot at one of the dinner tables. “Welcome back! How was visiting home?” She smiles at him, and Izuku forces him to return the expression.

“Great,” he says, since he  _ had _ told his friends and his teachers that he was going home for the weekend. His mom had agreed to cover for him, but only if he kept her updated. There’s a loud explosion from the kitchen that makes Izuku flinch, hard, and he watches as Kacchan storms out of the room, stomping up the stairs. Izuku’s heart sinks in his chest.

“Sorry man,” Kirishima says, shaking his head. “I don’t know what his problem is.” He sighs, turning back to whatever the two of them had been making in the kitchen.  _ It’s me,  _ Izuku wants to say.  _ I’m the problem _ .

“I-I should go put my stuff up,” Izuku says, instead, holding up the pair of shopping bags he’s carrying. Uraraka nods, and Izuku can see that most of his classmates have already gone back to what they were doing before. Izuku slips over to the stairs, where his childhood friend had just stomped away, and he starts up them without anyone stopping him. It feels like a blessing.

Izuku doesn’t stop on the second floor, though. He keeps walking up the stairs, the rhythm of his feet on the concrete soothing and grounding. It’s nothing like taking an elevator, and getting to the fourth floor feels so quick compared to waiting for the slow rise of the elevator. Izuku steps out of the stairs onto the fourth floor,  _ Kacchan’s  _ floor, and he takes a few easy steps and then he’s there. Kacchan’s door isn’t labelled, but Izuku memorized the room chart the day they moved in, because he thought it might come in handy later. Izuku raises the hand that isn’t holding his bags and knocks on the door.

“Go away, Shitty Hair,” Kacchan grumbles back. “I’m not fucking interested in talking about it.” Izuku swallows.

“It’s not Kirishima,” he says, quietly. He hears silence from the room, then,

“Deku?” he says, his voice strange. Izuku nods, then remembers that Kacchan can’t see him.

“Yeah,” Izuku answers. He registers, vaguely, that his hands are trembling. “It’s me.” 

“I can’t--I don’t want to fucking talk to you,” Kacchan snaps, his voice choked in a weird way. “Not after what fucking happened.” Izuku swallows, feels dread pool in his gut, cold and icy and heavy. 

“Kacchan--” Izuku starts, but Kacchan’s cutting him off before Izuku can ask  _ why _ .

“Go the fuck  _ away! _ ” Kacchan shouts, his voice thick with something that sounds familiar, but Izuku can’t identify it. Izuku turns, runs down the hallway. He feels like he’s going to throw up. His vision blurs, going thick and bubbly with tears as he goes down the stairs as quickly as he can. Every impact sends lightning bolts of pain through his wrist, but Izuku doesn’t care. He unlocks the door to his dorm room and shuts himself inside just before the first loud, thick sobs hit. Izuku thinks, absently, that he sounds like a dying animal.

Izuku drops his bags to the floor and sits down with his back to the door. Something about it, about sitting down, breaks whatever semblance of control he’d been holding onto until now. Izuku draws his knees up to his chest and whimpers, feeling heavy, hot tears soak through the fabric of his shorts, but even as he tells himself to get up, to stop crying, to get over it, he can’t hold back the tears. 

He feels  _ wretched _ , awful and twisted up inside, because this means that Fury was  _ right _ . Even if there’s no way that Fury knows, no way that Fury could  _ possibly  _ know, he was right. Kacchan hates Izuku. Kacchan knows that something happened at the Gekkeiju’s base, when Izuku was captured and nobody came to save him. While Kacchan was getting rescued and having his hand held by Kirishima (Izuku’s seen the footage, of course he has) and comforted by heroes, Izuku was in that tower, getting guns held to his head and having his lungs filled with fire. Izuku is  _ still _ in that tower, even if he’s not there in person, not right now. Izuku may as well still be captured. As he is now, he’s just a leashed dog.

Izuku sits with his back to the door for too long, he thinks, but when he stands, it still feels too soon. He lurches to his feet, moving like a drunk man as he stumbles to his closet, sliding the door open. His razors are right where he’d left them, in the box where he keeps all of his supplies, inside their packaging. Izuku takes out a new one, not that any of them are old. He sits on his rug, rolls up his sleeve. He doesn’t bother to get his first aid supplies out first, because he doesn’t care. 

Izuku draws a dark line of blood on his left arm, horizontal between the two bandages Fury had pressed over his burns. Izuku fumbles for a moment, finding the black towel he keeps to bleed out on, and he spreads it over his lap, placing his arm on top of it before he keeps going. He cuts another line into his skin, for the second burn. A third, for the bruise. A fourth and a fifth and a sixth for being a traitor, for being useless, for being too weak to get Mouse and Avenging Angel out without selling himself. A seventh, deeper than the rest, just for being himself. Izuku drops the razor to the ground. 

He leans forward, sobbing into his uninjured arm and watching blood run down his cut-up bicep, pooling in the crook of his elbow before spilling onto the dark towel. It’s not enough to kill him, Izuku knows, but it’s still soothing to watch his blood run out of him, in beads and trickles instead of his usual rush and pulse. Izuku feels something that tastes like the peace Heaven gives him, but it doesn’t even begin to compare.

Izuku gets why Heaven is a punishment, now. 

\--

The next morning, when Izuku shows up to training with just him and Aizawa and Shinsou, he has a throbbing headache. It doesn’t even  _ compare _ to the pain in his arm, though. Izuku had thought the wrist was done swelling yesterday, except when he woke up this morning, curled up in his bed like he thought that the blankets would stop him from thinking about the reality of things, his wrist looked even worse. It’s swollen to the point where he can’t actually  _ see _ the joint under all of the puffiness, and even just moving his fingers hurts, an ache that twinges and spreads through the entire bruise. Compared to that, his bicep barely hurts at all. The cuts are a pain he’s used to, and it’s like the wires in his brain are a little crossed, because the burns feel more like cuts now that they’re surrounded by them.

The problem is that Izuku knows there’s no way that he’s going to be able to wield his knives or punch someone or block hits with that arm. Izuku walks into Gym Beta knowing full well that he can’t train today, and he’s filled with a kind of hot shame that makes him feel like he’s swimming in lava as the door swings shut behind him. Aizawa and Shinsou are already there, talking quietly to each other, but they both turn to look at him with matching blank expressions as he walks up to them. Aizawa narrows his eyes at him.

“We can get started, now that you’re both here, Aizawa says, and he looks like he’s about to say something else when Izuku shakes his head, looking up at his teacher. Aizawa frowns even before Izuku speaks.

“I-I can’t,” Izuku says, swallowing. He’s aware of the fact that he’s going to cry before he’s even started, but he still hates the swell of painful tears in his eyes. Aizawa’s brows crease, and he moves in front of Izuku, making eye contact with him. Izuku can’t handle him being so close, so he takes a tiny step back. He can see Shinsou watching him from the corner of his eye.

“Why not, Midoriya?” Aizawa asks, voice carefully controlled. Izuku swallows.

“Y-You said to tell you,” Izuku says, mouth too dry, “if I was injured.” As he says it, he can see Aizawa tensing up, can see the way he goes carefully still. Shinsou is staring openly at Izuku, something close to shock on his face.

“I did,” Aizawa says, nodding. “Where are you hurt?” he asks, and his voice is firm but not unkind. Izuku thinks he can hear urgency in it, sharp and concerned. Izuku lifts his left arm, pulls back the long sleeve of his sports uniform. He grimaces at the pain as the tight, fitted fabric moves against the swollen joint, and even though he only rolls it up enough to expose the forearm, he feels naked. He hears Shinsou take in a sharp breath, but Aizawa doesn’t react, just looks at his arm with an unreadable gaze.

“Midoriya,” Aizawa says, but he reaches out to grab Izuku’s arm and Izuku flinches so  _ violently _ that he almost falls over. Aizawa jerks his hand back, staring at Izuku as Izuku cradles his arm to his chest, backing away another step.

“S-S-Sorry,” Izuku grits out, hating the way he stutters. Aizawa takes a deep, slow breath, but he doesn’t reach for Izuku again.

“Midoriya,” Aizawa repeats. “You were staying with your mom last night,” he says, and for a moment, Izuku is confused. And then, Aizawa adds, “and this is the second time you’ve had a hand shaped bruise on your wrist.” Izuku freezes, and out of the corner of his eye, he can see that Shinsou is frozen too, like a statue with wild purple hair and wide, tired eyes.

Izuku shakes his head, quickly. “N-No, she didn’t--it’s not her,” he says, immediately regretting his choice of words. Aizawa’s eyes narrow.

“Who, then?” he asks, his voice calm, his tone measured. It doesn’t fool Izuku. He shakes his head.

“I-I can’t tell you,” Izuku whispers. “I--You said I should say if--if I’m hurt,” Izuku says. “I-I don’t want questions, I-I just--” he chokes on the rest of the sentence before it’s out, and he wants to bury his face in the ground when he feels tears start to stream down his face. His chest eaves with sobs that he tries to hold back, and Aizawa takes a step back, holding his hands up like he’s trying to show Izuku he isn’t going to hurt him. His lips are pressed into a thin, grim line, and the worry is leaking through his calm facade.

“Okay,” Aizawa says. “No questions. But I need you to breathe, Midoriya.” Izuku stares at him as he takes a deep breath, big and obvious. “Take a couple deep breaths. You’re okay. Nobody here is going to hurt you.” Aizawa’s voice is familiar, comforting. Beside him, Shinsou nods, taking a step back, but he stays in Izuku’s field of vision, which Izuku is grateful for. He forces himself to suck in a deep, controlled breath, and a tension he hadn’t realized had built up in his chest starts to slowly unravel. 

Izuku closes his eyes. He feels the beat of his heart in his chest, a little too fast, and the movement of his lungs against his ribcage. He opens his eyes, stares at the capture weapon wound around his teacher’s neck. Fury would never wear something like that, and the weapon is something familiar to Izuku. His gaze slides to the side, at the matching scarf on Shinsou. He breathes out.

“S-Sorry,” he says, looking up and meeting Aizawa’s eyes. “I-I just freaked out a little.” He gives Aizawa a slight smile, which his teacher doesn’t return. Izuku offers his wrist to his teacher, holding it out. Aizawa glances down at it, his hands still held up.

“Is it alright if I touch you, to examine it?” Aizawa asks, and Izuku nods. Aizawa steps forward slowly, his hands coming down to hold Izuku’s arm by the hand, not touching the bruised area. He rotates Izuku’s arm, pausing when Izuku winces.

“I-It’s okay,” Izuku says. “It--It just hurts, a little.” Aizawa grunts in acknowledgement.

“I’m fairly certain this is broken,” Aizawa says. “I’ll need to have Recovery Girl look at it to be sure, but she has to heal it, anyway.” He releases Izuku’s arm, then looks up at, meeting his gaze. Izuku swallows, and he feels strange when he has to look away.  _ It’s Aizawa-sensei, _ he tells himself.  _ I don’t have to be nervous.  _

“Okay,” Izuku whispers. Even though he isn’t meeting his teacher’s eyes, he doesn’t miss the way his teacher looks him over meaningfully.

As they walk to the infirmary, the strange tension doesn’t fade. Aizawa seems to relax, somewhat, when Izuku’s mom is even more surprised and horrified than he had been, but Aizawa stays close to Izuku--not close enough to scare him, though. Shinsou tags along, too, and Aizawa only tells him to leave once. Shinsou doesn’t leave, and Izuku thinks that means something, but he isn’t sure what. Even as people ask him questions and he’s healed and they send him to rest, Izuku feels like there’s a wall between him and them. It’s something he can’t understand, something he can’t piece together.

Izuku hates it, because it’s just what Fury told him.  _ There are a lot of things you’ll lose. People, for instance. _ Izuku hates that he starts to think Fury might be right about that. 

\--

That night, when Izuku comes out of his room for dinner, Aizawa is waiting in the common area. Izuku isn’t surprised by it, but when he steps off of the stairs and sees Aizawa rise from the couch with a sigh, walking toward Izuku with his hands in his pockets, Izuku still feels his heart jump into his throat slightly. 

“Midoriya,” Aizawa says, quiet under his breath. “I want to talk to you.” Izuku nods, not meeting Aizawa’s eyes.

“I-It won’t happen again,” Izuku says, and he’s going to say more, but Aizawa stops him.

“No, kid, that wasn’t what I wanted to say.” Aizawa sighs. “Thank you,” he says, and Izuku’s gaze snaps up. He makes eye contact with Aizawa, frowns. Aizawa just stares back at him.

“For what?” he asks, his voice small. Aizawa doesn’t react, just answers.

“For telling me,” he says. “I’m glad you felt safe enough to do so.” He takes a deep breath, in and out. Izuku sees the muscle along his neck and shoulder tense, then untense. “Midoriya, if you’re in trouble, we can help you,” Aizawa says. “You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not ready to,” he says, and his lips slip into a slight frown. “But I want you to come to me with any injuries, just like you did today. I don’t care if they’re self-inflicted or from someone else.” He meets Izuku’s gaze, serious. “I’m here to help you, Midoriya. Whatever you need.” 

Izuku swallows, nods. “Okay,” he whispers, his voice too choked up for anything more. “I’ll try.” 

Aizawa gives him a slight smile, and he reaches a hand out slightly before pausing. Izuku nods, and his teacher sets it on his shoulder, gentle and warm. It doesn’t undo the rock that’s been sitting in Izuku’s gut since Fury first held him still and burned him, but it does lighten it, ever-so-slightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: abuse, manipulation, GRAPHIC self harm, references to torture
> 
> [discord!](https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt) it's 16+ now, btw
> 
> i promise i'll get to the provisional license exam plotline again soon frankly it's been a hard couple of days stress-wise and i didn't have time to research and write a chapter that follows canon and also this stuff happens first so idk why im justifying it actually but i felt like i needed to
> 
> torture makes me feel better okay???


	56. provisional license exam, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku got patched up by fury, returned home, got rejected by kacchan, and then freaked it in front of aizawa and shinsou

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEW ARC FOLKS are you hyped bc im hyped

The next day, when Izuku shows up for training, he’s half expecting Aizawa to take one look at him and send him back to bed. It’s not that he hasn’t rested--it’s just that he doesn’t  _ look _ like he did. When Izuku steps into the gyms, though, a mirror to yesterday, Aizawa and Shinsou both turn to look at him, but it’s Shinsou that speaks.

“You good, Midoriya?” he asks, face wearing a lazy, unconcerned expression. Izuku isn’t convinced. He’s been wondering, about the way Shinsou trailed after him so much yesterday, the way he stuck around while Izuku was healed. Now that Izuku’s less... unbalanced, less unsteady, it strikes him as odd. He and Shinsou might be friends, but Izuku doesn’t think that Shinsou considers them close. 

“Yep!” Izuku says, giving him and Aizawa a bright smile. Even though Recovery Girl had just healed his wrist, not his bicep (and he’s so, so glad that people were more interested in making sure he didn’t have a panic attack than they were in making him roll a sleeve up a few inches more), he’s feeling a lot better for it. It probably helps that he didn’t dream of the Gekkeiju at all last night. Not even a little bit. It also helps that Izuku is only a couple of days out from the licensing exam, and the Gekkeiju seem to agree that it’s more important to keep his cover than for him to report back weekly. Miura had texted him, telling him to focus on the licensing exam, that he’ll have more freedom to complete the mission afterward. His next date to meet with them at the base is two weeks from Saturday, not one, and he’s so grateful for it. 

Aizawa nods. “Okay,” he says, “good.” There’s something about the way that he just accepts it, the way that Aizawa  _ trusts _ that Izuku is telling the truth that makes Izuku’s heart sing in his chest. It helps, because Izuku has something else to tell Aizawa about.

“Sensei,” he says, and Aizawa’s gaze moves to him instantly. “I think I know how we can convince the Commission that I need a license,” he says, voice quick with excitement. “I-I’m toe joint negative,” he says, casting a glance to Shinsou, but the other boy just looks confused. “So I do have a quirk, most likely. There’s no way to know if I have a latent quirk or one that’ll activate randomly. So I do need a license, legally,” he says all at once, feeling the smile pull at his cheeks. Aizawa blinks at him, and something in the set to his mouth shifts.

“That’s a good point, Midoriya,” he says, slipping his hands into his pockets. “I’ll bring it up next time I meet with them.” The edges of his mouth curl up, slightly. “Between the three of us, I think there’s a fairly good chance they’ll let you take it.” Izuku grins back at him.

“Also,” he says, glancing over to Shinsou, who looks skeptical. “I think I’ve got an idea for my first super move.” 

\--

On the morning of the licensing exam, Izuku tags along with the rest of the class despite not having received official word on whether or not he’s actually allowed to  _ take _ the exam. The bus ride to the testing site is full of buzzing, chattering voices, and it’s a bit much for Izuku, really. He’s not used to this kind of thing, even though he’s been at UA for a full term already. It’s getting easier, though, even though Izuku can't get the thought out of his mind that if Kacchan knows he’s a traitor, knows he’s working with the enemy, it won’t be long until everybody else knows, too. 

Izuku knows, logically, that he isn’t an  _ actual _ traitor. He’s working with the villains, sure, but he has no intention of helping them any more than he absolutely has to in order to gain their trust. Izuku is a spy. A plant. Nevermind that the people he’s spying  _ for _ have no idea what he’s doing. Nevermind that some of them (Kacchan, Nezu, maybe even Aizawa) think that he’s spying for the  _ other side. _ Izuku is only working with the villains to save Mouse and Angel and whoever else they have. He’s working with the villains because, as far as he can tell,  _ nobody _ knows what the Gekkeiju wants. And Izuku is probably the only one who can figure it out and survive.

It doesn’t really make Izuku feel any better, knowing that. When he sees the back of Kacchan’s head, the spiky, ash-blonde hair he’s seen so many times since he was a kid, it makes it worse. He just thinks about what Fury said to him, what Kacchan all but confirmed. Izuku hates it, but he understands. If he was in Kacchan’s position, if he saw a quirkless, weak loser get kidnapped and then randomly get free a week later, he’d think they must have made a deal to get out, too. After all, it’s what Izuku actually  _ did. _

“Deku?” Uraraka whispers, and Izuku blinks, turning to look at her. She’s one row in front of him and across the aisle, but since he’s not sharing his seat with anyone, it’s easy to scoot to the edge of the bench style bench seat and be close to her. She tips her head to the side, at the seat directly behind her and therefore right across from Izuku, and Izuku understands immediately.

Shinsou is asleep in his seat, his head pressed against the glass window. His violet hair is squished, and his mouth is slightly open. He’s making light, quiet breathing noises that almost sound like whimpers, but what really catches Izuku’s eye is the crease between Shinsou’s brows, the tightness around his eyes.  _ He’s dreaming _ , Izuku thinks. He wouldn’t call it a nightmare, just by looking, but it doesn’t seem to be pleasant. As Izuku and Uraraka watch, Shinsou’s arm twitches where it’s resting in his lap.

“Do you think we should wake him up?” Uraraka whispers. “You’re the only one who really knows him, but...” She trails off, a worried set to her dark brown eyes, and Izuku understands. He wouldn’t want a bus full of kids who were essentially strangers to watch him sleep. 

Izuku nods, then turns to Shinsou. “Hey,” he says, loud enough to be heard but not loud enough to stand out among the buzz of conversation that permeates the bus. “Shinsou.” Shinsou twitches, his nose screwing up like he’s smelled something foul, but he doesn’t open his eyes. Izuku presses his lips together into a frown.

“Shinsou,” he says, a little louder. No reaction. “Hitoshi Shinsou,” he says, feeling a spark of something ugly in his chest. Shinsou had never given him permission to use his first name. It seems to work, though, and Shinsou twitches, almost a flinch, then opens his eyes, straightening up at once and blinking. His eyes land on Uraraka, first, then they move to Izuku, where they narrow.

“Did I fall asleep?” Shinsou asks, his nose wrinkling slightly. Izuku nods, the motion small, and Shinsou sighs. Izuku worries at his bottom lip with his teeth, thinking for a moment that he’d made the wrong decision.

“Are you getting enough sleep at night, Shinsou?” Uraraka asks, jumping slightly when Shinsou looks over to her sharply. “Oh! Um, I’m Ochako Uraraka,” she says, smiling and giving him a little wave. “I don’t think we’ve met, but you might have seen me in the sports festival.” Shinsou stares back at her. Izuku prays that he doesn’t snap at her like he sometimes does at Izuku.

“I remember,” Shinsou says, shortly. “Thanks for waking me up,” he says, settling back into his seat. 

“Deku did all the work, really,” Uraraka says with a smile, relaxing visibly as Shinsou stops staring her down. “I just noticed that you’d fallen asleep, and I didn’t think it’d be good for your neck to sleep like that for long.” Izuku is grateful that Uraraka offers the excuse, because it solves the issue of someone potentially bringing up the question of why Shinsou looked like he was in pain while he slept.

“Deku?” Shinsou echoes, his brow creasing. “That’s Midoriya’s hero name, isn’t it?” He glances to Izuku, who nods.

“Yeah!” Izuku says. “Uraraka and Kacchan both call me that, for different reasons, though.” 

“Hm.” Shinsou grunts in acknowledgement, staring back at Izuku with narrowed eyes. Izuku smiles again, because it feels like the correct thing to do, and then he turns back to the window when neither Uraraka nor Shinsou seem to have anything else to say. The ride to the exam site doesn’t take long after that, and the scenery outside the window blends together. It’s in a city not far from UA, just a little ways outside Tokyo, and as they pull into the parking lot, Izuku finds himself wishing that it were a little further, so he’d have more time to collect his thoughts. 

Izuku stays seated when the bus stops, when his friends and classmates start to filter out of the bus, filling the aisles. The brown faux-leather seat is somewhat stuck to his legs, even with the pants of his costume between him and it, so it sticks to his skin strangely when he finally  _ does _ stand up. He and Shinsou are the only ones still on the bus, and Izuku gets the sense that Shinsou is waiting for him to leave. Izuku doesn’t question it--he stands up and walks off of the bus, the shoes of his hero costume making dull thuds on the metal steps as he steps down onto the concrete ground in the parking lot. 

They’re far from the only ones here. Izuku can see two other buses parked in the same area as them, with students in various colorful costumes mulling about. It’s a blazingly hot day, which isn’t helped in the slightest by the way Izuku’s costume is long sleeved and has full length pants, but Izuku thinks it’ll be okay once he’s distracted by the exam itself. He can see Aizawa gesture for 1-A to follow him, and the crowd that’s made up of his friends starts to move, shifting toward a large door in the side of the building they're parked in front of. It looks like an auditorium of some sort, large and round and tall, and Izuku wonders if he’d be lucky enough for it to be air conditioned. 

As they walk inside, into blessedly cool air, Shinsou draws even with Izuku, casting a glance at him over his shoulder. Izuku looks back at him, tipping his head to the side slightly. He’s just opening his mouth to ask what Shinsou needs, but Shinsou speaks, first. 

“We should stick together,” he says, his violet irises fixed on Izuku, looking through the corners of his eyes. “We’ve practiced together more than anyone else in the class, unless I’ve drastically misunderstood your curriculum. We’ll do better than most.”

“If it’s combat,” Izuku replies before thinking, and he feels his cheeks heat up slightly when Shinsou raises an eyebrow. “I mean, we can work together either way!” Izuku says, holding his hands up. “But we really only have practice working together with combat situations and stealth, which I somehow doubt is going to come up.”

Shinsou shrugs. “It might,” he says, his gaze turning to face forward. His eyebrows furrow slightly. “What’s going on up there?” he asks, and Izuku blinks, following his gaze. There’s a large guy in a military-looking uniform talking to Todoroki and Kacchan, and from the looks of it (and Kacchan’s volume), they’re arguing. Izuku watches the disdain grow on Todoroki’s face, his posture cold and icy, as this stranger leans in, saying something. A girl with short, cropped black hair and the same outfit as the tall guy walks up, saying something to him, and he suddenly stops, looking surprised, and then bows so deeply his forehead smacks the ground. Izuku winces; he can hear it even from here, and it doesn’t sound pleasant.

“I... think they have it handled?” Izuku says, but he isn’t really sure. Shinsou snorts, rolling his eyes.

“Heroics kids are strange in every school, I guess,” he says with a shrug, and Izuku kind of agrees as he watches the two matching students walk away from the UA kids, talking to each other. Izuku sees Todoroki and Kacchan turn to look at each other, and to his surprise, they appear to be having a conversation. Izuku blinks, something in his throat stinging, and he looks away.

“They’re from Shiketsu High,” a voice from behind them says, and Izuku blinks, turning around to see a boy with shoulder length blue hair and a uniform that matches the others. He smiles at them. “I am too, of course. Good luck out there,” he says, and then he’s walking past Izuku and Shinsou. Izuku looks back over to Shinsou, who shrugs.

“That guy seemed nice,” Izuku says, and Shinsou arches an eyebrow at him. Izuku resists the urge to laugh at it as they walk towards the room where they’re supposed to go to have the exam explained to them. Just outside the door, though, Aizawa and a man with bushy blonde hair and a tired expression that rivals Aizawa’s and Shinsou’s are waiting, and when the two of them approach, Aizawa meets Izuku’s eyes.

“Midoriya, a moment?” Aizawa asks, and Izuku blinks, nodding. He assumes the man standing beside Aizawa is from the hero commission. He glances to Shinsou, giving the other boy a shaky smile and a slight nod, and then Izuku turns, walking up to his teacher and the blonde guy.

“This is Yokumiru,” Aizawa says, gesturing to the man. “He’s with the Hero Public Safety Commission.” Yokumiru nods beside Aizawa, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking bored.

“I’m here to inform you that the Commission has determined you’ll be allowed to take the licensing exam,” Yokumiru says, his voice a low drawl. Izuku blinks, his eyes widening, but Yokumiru isn’t done. “You should be aware, though, that the criteria for you to receive the provisional license may be harder to meet than it is for the others,” Yokumiru says, “given that we don’t actually know which quirk we’re allowing to be used out in the field around civilians.” Izuku swallows, then nods, a smile still stretched over his face.

“T-Thank you!” he chirps, but Yokumiru doesn’t react. Izuku can see that Aizawa is giving the man a dirty look, but he ignores it. “You don’t need to worry about it being more difficult,” Izuku adds, glancing over to Aizawa and meeting his eyes. “I’m going to pass it no matter what,” he says firmly, clenching his hands into fists at his sides.  _ If I don’t,  _ he thinks,  _ I get my second chance a lot sooner than anyone else will. _

“Well,” Yokumiru says, his eyes drooping. “I’d better get inside,” he says, raising a hand to cover his mouth as he yawns widely, the movement stretching and warping his entire face. He walks between Izuku and Aizawa, shuffling forward into the auditorium where the students are, for the most part, waiting. Izuku watches him go, and when he turns his gaze back to his teacher, Aizawa is watching him with a thoughtful look on his face.

“Sensei?” Izuku asks, tipping his head to the side slightly. He feels a prickle of anxiety somewhere in his chest as the thought occurs to him that Aizawa could reach out and grab him at this distance, could hurt him, if he wanted to. Izuku dismisses the thought, though, because Aizawa  _ wouldn’t _ .

“Go ahead, Midoriya,” Aizawa says, gesturing to the door. “You don’t want to miss the announcement of the exam.” Izuku blinks, then nods, but he doesn’t move. Aizawa seems to expect this, because he sighs, his shoulder dropping. 

“S-Shinsou and I are planning to work together,” Izuku says, because he knows he’s supposed to say something but has no idea what. Aizawa barely blinks.

“You’ll do great,” Aizawa says. “Both of you.” He pauses. “Midoriya. Can I touch you?” he asks, and Izuku blinks, nods. 

Aizawa reaches out a hand, sets it on Izuku’s shoulder. He keeps it there as the two of them walk into the auditorium, all the way until they pass where the teachers are supposed to sit and Aizawa has to separate. The contact is comforting, somehow, and when it’s gone, Izuku misses it. 

\--

The stadium itself is not, in fact, air conditioned. Izuku can’t find it in himself to be upset about this, given that he’d have to be  _ extremely _ lucky for that to happen, but he’s still not totally enthused. He’s already sweating, beads of liquid forming on his brow, as he squints in the sunlight that filters down into the arena from the blue sky above. It’s a rocky sort of terrain, with cool brown stone and loose dirt and some weird mountain-y shapes. Izuku is pretty sure that they used someone with a quirk like Cementoss’s, but for stone, to make it. There’s a few mock buildings, too, but all of class 1-A (plus Shinsou) are starting outside. Izuku’s just finished putting his last target on, over his heart--he figures it’s a good place to learn to protect, after all. The other two are on the right side of his waist and the front of his right thigh. 

“Are you ready?” Izuku asks Shinsou, glancing over to where the other boy is trying to convince the target to stick in his armpit. Izuku is pretty sure they’re not supposed to try and hide them like that, so he doesn’t think Shinsou is going to be successful. His costume is different than the others in that it’s not unique--it’s just the sports uniform with a capture scarf and a facepiece that makes it hard to tell if Shinsou’s talking.

“Ready enough,” Shinsou grumbles, giving up and slapping his final target to the front of one of his thighs, like Izuku had done with one of his. “At least I can actually  _ use _ my quirk for this. There aren’t any robots.” 

Izuku nods. “Yeah,” he says, “I’m glad for that, too. Knives work better on people, so.” Shinsou looks at him, raises an eyebrow as his gaze catches meaningfully on the sheaths on Izuku’s belt.

“Are they letting you use knives?” he asks, sounding skeptical more than anything. Izuku nods, swallowing.

“Y-Yeah,” Izuku says. “I guess it’s because quirks like Kacchan’s can be lethal, t-too,” he explains, and Shinsou nods, his lips pulling back in a slight grimace.

“Maybe I should have learned a scarier weapon,” Shinsou grumbles, putting a hand up to rest in his capture scarf. “It’s not like anyone’s going to surrender if I point some cloth at their face.” That startles a laugh out of Izuku, and he shakes his head.

“I-I’m not going to--” he starts, still laughing, when the countdown to announce the start of the exam begins.

“The exam will begin in three. Two,” Izuku bites at his lip, lowers himself into a fighting stance. Beside him, Shinsou does the same. “One. Begin!” the announcer says, and Izuku recognizes the voice as the hero commission guy, Yokumiru, who had given him and Aizawa the news that Izuku could take the exam and had explained the rules of the exam itself. Izuku doesn’t have much time to think about it, though, because there’s suddenly a barrage of balls raining down on them.

“Shit!” Shinsou curses, his capture weapon fluttering out into the air, blocking a good number of the rubber orange balls. Izuku grits his teeth, yanking two knives out of his belt and crouching lower to the ground so that his center, with his targets, is harder to hit. A ball comes flying directly at him, and Izuku slashes it open with his knife before it can touch him, even though it wouldn’t have struck a target. It makes a pitiful sound, like a squeaky toy, then falls to the ground. Izuku can see shiny silver machinery inside, which must be how they can track who threw what. He only feels a little bad for destroying what must be an expensive piece of equipment.

“We’ve got to get out of this area!” Izuku says to Shinsou, shouting so that he can be heard over the sounds of battle. He can clearly hear the roar of flame and the thundering blasts and the crackling electricity of a few of his classmates, and he has no doubt that the rest of them are fighting, too.  _ Shinsou and I can’t do stuff like that, _ he thinks as he starts running away from the area.  _ We need to get away from the others.  _

“Are they targeting UA?” Shinsou asks, his voice a low hiss as they run. Izuku nods his head jerkily, his shoes slapping against the hard earth beneath them.

“I-I think so!” he shouts in reply, reaching one hand up to wipe sweat off his brow. It makes sense, and Izuku wonders why he didn’t expect it--their quirks had been broadcasted nationally, after all. Izuku supposes he’s at a bit of an advantage in that regard, at the very least. 

It only takes a moment, once the wind starts, for Izuku to realize it isn’t natural. It starts as a thin breeze that cools the beads of sweat on his cheek, but then it’s too hard and too fast to be anything natural. Izuku’s blinking, and then the wind is too fast to keep his eyes fully open. It whirls around him, and he feels Shinsou’s capture weapon slap him in the face. 

“Shinsou!” he shouts, but it’s lost to the rushing of air in his ears, and then there are balls mixed into the maelstrom. Izuku winces, bracing himself and trying to keep his eyes open against the torrent, but it doesn’t matter. He feels a series of smacks all over his body, so many that it’s hard to tell where he’s being hit. The wind is so strong at this point that Izuku can barely feel the balls themselves. It’s odd, because it’s still bright and sunny. The wind isn’t blocking the light, and Izuku thinks that makes sense, but he’s never felt wind like this without there being clouds, in the past. 

The wind dies down just as quickly as it started, and Izuk crashed to the ground on his side, blinking in the light. He hadn’t even realized he’d been lifted off of the ground. His skin stings where it’s not covered by his costume, like it’s been rubbed raw, and when he raises a hand to examine the skin there, it looks like he’d fallen in the dirt, little scrapes covering the skin. There’s a few small droplets of blood beading up in the wounds, and Izuku realizes that the wind must have whipped sand and rocks into him. He’d barely even felt it.

Izuku stands up, pressing his hands into the blasted-clean stone to push himself to his feet, and he sways for a moment before his legs remember that he’s not in a storm, not any more. He turns, looking for Shinsou, and he sees his friend a short distance away, standing up and looking down at himself with a frown. His capture weapon is missing--it must have blown off completely--and Shinsou’s hair has been whipped into even more of a mess than usual. The targets on him, all three of them, are glowing. Izuku blinks, then looks down at himself, a bubble of cold dread building in his stomach despite the heat of the sun. All of his targets are glowing, too.

Izuku hears Shinsou sigh, watches him walk over to Izuku, rubbing the back of his head with one hand. He looks annoyed, but more than that, resigned, his lips tugged down into a frown and his brows slightly furrowed. Izuku looks up at him and swallows. 

“Damn,” Shinsou says. “I was hoping I’d make it to the second phase, at least.” He says it like he doesn’t care, but Izuku sees the way he clenches his jaw for a moment. Izuku feels like he’s underwater, but not in the distant, measured way he is sometimes. He feels like he’s drowning. 

“I--” Izuku says, but he stops. He shakes his head. Shinsou’s gaze sharpens, his frown deepening.

“Are you--” Shinsou starts, but his mouth snaps shut. Izuku doesn’t know why. He thinks he should stay, thinks he should ask about it or ask if  _ Shinsou’s _ okay, but he doesn’t do that. He turns on his heels and starts walking, quickly, toward where they’re supposed to go when they lose. Back into the building that houses the arena, all polished tiles and high ceilings, since it hosts big-name events or something. Izuku feels a pressure in his chest that makes it hard to breathe. 

“Midoriya,” Shinsou says, and Izuku can hear his footsteps come closer until they’re both speed-walking out of the stadium, to the open door for those who have failed. Failures. Losers. Izuku snorts, but it doesn’t sound like a laugh, really. He takes in a breath that wheezes in his chest, and he chooses not to see that alarmed look that comes over Shinsou’s face when Izuku starts crying,  _ again _ . Izuku’s been doing that in front of Shinsou a lot, lately. 

“Midoriya,” Shinsou tries again, but Izuku shakes his head, picks up his pace.

“I-I’m okay,” Izuku chokes out. His voice is high pitched. “I’m just--I’m just a little d-disappointed,” he says, gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut as the air conditioning washes over him.

“Yeah,” Shinsou says, and his voice is wary, like he’s not sure if he should trust Izuku’s word on that. “Me too.” Izuku opens his eyes. Shinsou is watching him with a crease between his brows that isn’t worry, but Izuku can’t identify it.

“I’m going to go find the bathroom,” Izuku says. He tries to put a light tone to his voice, but it just comes out strained. Shinsou nods.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll be here.” Izuku doesn’t bother telling him that he won’t be, instead turning and heading down the hall. He has no idea where the bathroom is, truthfully, but he assumes it's not in the stadium, which leaves a couple of ways to go. Izuku walks slowly, his boots clicking on the tile. He starts to feel himself becoming distant, like he has been before, but it’s not enough to stop him from crying again. His head hurts from holding back tears, his vision blurring. The hallway is too nice for this. It’s too nice for Izuku to be walking down it quickly, his face streaked with tears and his costume covered in dust and his hands and face covered in tiny cuts. 

He spots the sign for the women’s restroom, first, and the men’s a moment after that, across the hallway. It’s far enough away from the entrance to the stadium that it’s quiet, silent except for his own footsteps. He opens the door to the bathroom, and when he walks into the nice, polished restroom, he is alone. It reminds him of the sports festival in many, many ways when he walks to the last stalls, latches the door shut, and sits on the floor as far from the toilet as he can get. He draws a knife from his arm guards. 

Izuku doesn’t do it right away, though. He cradles his blade in his hand and sits, the cold seeping from the tile of the floor into the flesh of his thighs. He realizes, as he sits there, warming the blade with the palm of his hand, that he’s waiting. He’s hoping. As much as Izuku wants to do this, as much as he knows he has to, some part of him is hoping that someone else shows up, like Todoroki did in the bathroom at the sports festival. Like Neito did when he’d taken the pills. Izuku wants someone to come and hold him while he dies. He wants someone to pull him in close and hug him. He wants someone to tell him it’s going to be okay.

Izuku should make this quick. He should plunge the blade into the flesh of his neck, should sever his carotid artery, should make it happen as fast as he can, but he can’t bear the thought. Izuku slices his left arm open first, not as deep as he knows is best. The blood doesn’t pulse out, like most of the time that he does it, now. It rushes out in a neat, steady stream, like the first few times he’d done this. Izuku shifts the blade to his left hand, raises his arm, and cuts a matching slice in his right arm. 

Izuku drops the knife to the floor, where it lands with a clatter on the tile. Izuku leans back against the wall and takes a couple of deep, steadying breaths. He can feel the burn of bright pain in each forearm as he waits. And he does have to wait, because he’s done a poor job of cutting himself open, and he knows it. He waits, and he listens. He hears his own heartbeat, rushing in his ears as his heart tries to beat faster and faster the less blood he has in his body. He hears his breathing grow quick and swallow and ineffective. He hears the rushing of blood and a strange, dull ringing. 

Izuku does not hear the door open. He does not hear anyone call out for him. He does not hear anybody come to help him. By the time he is growing too weak to keep his eyes open, by the time he feels the tugging he knows now is his quirk, starting to yank him away just before he dies, he knows that nobody is coming. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: graphic suicide but what's new
> 
> [discord!](https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt)
> 
> i hope you enjoyed!!! im having a good evening even though the day itself sucked ass so im feeling great, watching naruto, and vibing


	57. provisional license exam, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku and shinsou go to the license exam, izuku is allowed to take it, andddddd they both get inasa'd and fail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi gamers!!!! this chapter was hard to get done bc today was so busy so sorry that it's one of my shorter ones!!!! i hope u enjoy <3

Izuku wakes up, blinking his eyes open, to Shinsou mid-sentence.

“--letting you use knives?” Shinsou’s gaze moves to the belt that holds Izuku’s knives, then up to Izuku’s face. He frowns.

“Y-Yeah, they are,” Izuku says, swallowing. Shinsou’s eyes narrow at him slightly.

“Something just happened,” he says. “What was it?” Izuku blinks.

“N-Nothing, I just--I just remembered something,” Izuku says, and Shinsou opens his mouth to reply, his eyebrow raising like it does when he’s about to say something snarky, but he’s interrupted by an announcement.

“The exam will begin in three. Two,” Izuku knows how this goes. He lowers himself into a fighting stance that Shinsou copies. “One. Begin!” Yokumiru says over the intercom, and Izuku turns to Shinsou immediately. He knows what to expect, knows that the other schools will be throwing their balls at the UA students, but Shinsou has no way of knowing that. He sees the look on Shinsou’s face, though, as the balls start to come down on them, and Izuku doesn’t hesitate.

“They’re targeting UA,” he shouts, running in the opposite direction from where he knows the windstorm will be. He doesn’t look back to make sure Shinsou’s following him, because the sound of his footsteps is loud enough even the din of fighting to let Izuku know that Shinsou is close behind him. 

This direction leads to a building, tall and closed off, with bars in the windows. It’s not all smooth, though, so when they get to it, it’s easy for Izuku to haul himself up, digging the toes of his boots into a crevice and wrapping his hands around the metal bars. He clambers up to the second story level, his feet balanced on the top edge of the window of the first floor and his hands on a piece of stone that sticks out between the floors, before he glances down. He has a sinking feeling, at first, that this is going to be like with Kaminari, where he strands his friend on the ground, but instead he sees Shinsou manipulating the capture weapon he’s wielding and using it to launch himself onto the roof of the building, ahead of Izuku. Izuku grins, hurrying up the third and fourth floors and onto the rooftop to join him. 

“I didn’t know you could scale walls,” Shinsou says, glancing around, standing in a fighting stance, capture weapon threaded between his hands. The sunlight filters through his violet hair, making it look like it’s glowing lavender. Izuku shrugs, wiping dust from his hands on the front of his pants.

“I didn’t know that you could, either,” Izuku says, and Shinsou just raises one eyebrow at him. Izuku takes in their surroundings; it looks like they’re alone on the rooftop, although Izuku can clearly see some fighting taking place where they’d run from, and he can hear something loud going on in the building below them. There isn’t any kind of hatch or door that leads back down into the building, meaning that anybody who approached them would have to come from the outside or bust a hole in the floor. There’s a breeze up here, and at first, when Izuku thinks it, he thinks it’s another windstorm, but he can  _ see _ that, on the other side of the stadium. He bites at his lower lip as he watches it dissipate.

“120 examinees have been eliminated!” Yokumiru announces, and Izuku blinks. He must have missed the announcement last time, distracted by the fact that he’d know he’d have to kill himself. He glances to Shinsou, who’s brow is furrowing, creasing in the center. 

“I think it was the guy with the wind quirk,” Izuku says, and Shinsou glances to him, nods. Izuku looks around again. There are other buildings around them, many of them taller, but they’re close enough together that Izuku could easily jump from one to another, if he has a good enough foothold. 

“We need to find some people to target with my quirk,” Shinsou says, his eyes scanning the ground below the building. Izuku nods.

“R-Right,” Izuku says. “We could probably travel along the rooftops, but if we do that, we’re less likely to encounter someone.” He follows Shinsou’s gaze, and he sees a group of three people, all fighting each other. There are two girls and a guy, all of them looking on guard. Izuku glances to Shinsou, who smirks slightly at him.

“One for you, two for me,” Shinsou says, and then he’s walking to the edge of the roof. It’s a strange sight, and for a moment, Izuku almost tells him not to jump. In a different place, in a different time, he might have. He looks like Izuku thinks that Izuku himself probably does, on those nights that he jumps from buildings without the intent to survive, limbs stiff and back to Izuku. Shinsou’s capture scarf and hair rustle in the wind, and Izuku sees the other boy pale, taking a step back from the edge.

“Shinsou?” Izuku asks, hesitantly, and Shinsou turns back to look at him, a grimace on his face.

“Uh,” he says. “I’m not as good at getting down,” he says, and Izuku breathes out, nodding. 

“Use your quirk on them first,” Izuku says, gesturing below. “I can climb down, and you should be able to follow me, and I can try to catch you if you fall, that way.” Shinsou nods, looking out at the three who are still fighting with one another. He takes a deep breath, then shouts.

“Hey, do you mind if I join you?” Shinsou calls, his voice loud and clear. Izuku sees the three of them snap their heads up to look at him. One of the girls frowns, then shouts back.

“Who the fuck are you?” she asks, and Izuku sees the color, the focus bleed out of her eyes all at once. Shinsou smirks, slightly. 

“I dunno,” he says, shrugging, the motion exaggerated. “You guys look easy to beat, so I thought I’d at least let you know before I wiped the floor with you.” The guy starts towards the building, running at it like he thinks he’ll be able to get all the way to the roof, and Izuku is nervous for a moment before he shouts back.

“I recognize you, you’re--” and then he stops talking. He stops running, too, arms swinging at his side. Shinsou takes a breath, but the second girl speaks before he does.

“What did you do to them?” she asks, a mixture of alarm and confusion. Izuku doesn’t see any marks of Shinsou’s quirk on her face, which makes sense. She hadn’t actually replied to anything Shinsou said.

Shinsou leans over the edge more than before, shouting at her. “You’re pretty hot, babe!” he says, and Izuku cringes at it. “Wanna go out for some drinks after the exam?” The girl screws up her nose, reeling back.

“No, what the fuck are you--” she starts, and then she cuts herself off, standing limply like the other two. Shinsou looks over to Izuku. 

“Sorry about that,” he says, but he’s grinning. “I thought it’d work. Do you want to see my special move?” Izuku blinks, then nods, a smile spreading over his face.

“Yes!” he says, and Shinsou nods, something bright flashing in his eyes. “I didn’t think you’d come up with one, though,” he adds, and Shinsou shrugs.

“Maka’s been helping me,” he says, and Izuku blinks. “I can only hold three people for about three minutes, and one person for about ten. I needed some way to restrain people longer than that.” Izuku nods.

“I-I see,” he says, “so what did you--” Shinsou holds up his hand, and Izuku stops.

“Watch and see, “ he says, then turns to look down at the three brainwashed students below. “Sleep.” he says, and all three of them crumple to the ground in unison. Izuku feels his mouth open slightly, his eyes widening in awe.

“Whoa, you can do that?” Izuku asks. He’d thought that Shinsou could only command people to do basic things, like simple movements and staying still. This was something completely unexpected, something Shinsou’d never done in any of their training sessions with Aizawa.

“Yeah, apparently,” Shinsou says, shrugging. “Turns out I can make people do more than I’d originally thought. It takes practice, though,” he says, glancing at Izuk out of the corner of his eye. “Are you going to get me off of this building? They won’t be out for long, not with how loud it is around here.” 

Izuku nods. “R-Right!” he says, then hops over to the ledge. A four story building like this is essay for him to climb after all the practice he’s had, so he starts shimmying down along the barred windows, the toes of his boots making little scraping sounds in the stone walls. He hops down to the ground after just a few moments, glancing back up to see Shinsou staring down at him, wide-eyed where his toes hang off the ledge. He’s backlit by the sun, his violet hair making a halo around his head. 

“It’s just like climbing a ladder!” Izuku shouts up to him, cupping his hands around his mouth so Shinsou can hear him better. “If you fall, you’ll be able to use your scarf to get the bars on the windows.” Shinsou nods, the motion hard to see at their angle, but he turns, starting to climb down. It’s slower progress than Izuku’s had been, but Shinsou makes it down the side of the building without any struggle. 

“You know,” Shinsou says as he hops from the last window onto the ground. “You could take out two of these guys. I can always find a second for myself.” Izuku blinks, then shakes his head.

“No, but thank you,” Izuku says, giving Shinsou a smile as he picks up one of the balls scattered on the ground, walking over to one of the sleeping girls. “I want to get at least one out all by myself,” he explains, and Shinsou shrugs. 

“Suit yourself, he says, gathering up a ball for himself. Izuku turns away from him, tapping the ball against all three of the girl’s targets. He feels a little guilty when they light up, indicating that she’s out of the game, but he also can’t afford to lose himself, and this is what it will take. 

“I’m done,” Izuku says, straightening up. He watches Shinsou nod, moving to tag the guy on the targets, too. When he stands up, it’s with a lazy smirk.

“I’ll see you in round two, Midoriya,” he says, turning. His targets light up and glow red, indicating that he’s beaten the first stage of the test. Izuku gives him a little wave as he walks away, hands slipping into his pockets. 

Izuku takes a moment, after that, to make sure that the three sleeping students aren’t anywhere that they could get hurt by accident. He grabs the guy by the shoulders, dragging him out of the open portion of the road and off to the side instead, closer to where the two girls are unconscious. Izuku can feel the stranger’s body heat seeping through the fabric of his uniform, which he recognizes as Shiketsu’s. It feels strangely intimate, dragging someone while they’re unconscious like this, so he doesn’t do anything else, after that, just starts to walk deeper into the mock city.

It’s loud, but not in the same way an actual city is. There aren’t any cars, for one, and there also isn’t a background buzz of birds and bugs in the background, isn’t a chirping of birds along power lines. Izuku glances up, his eyes tracing the sky, and he realizes there actually  _ aren’t _ any power lines. It makes the whole area even more obviously fake, but in the end, Izuku supposes it doesn’t really matter to him. 

It’s probably because he’s paying such close attention to the sounds of the mock city area that he hears the lightest of footsteps, near silent behind him. He turns, quickly, pressing his back to the wall of the closest building. Just in time, too--there’s a flash of movement, a swipe of a foot aiming to knock Izuku off of his feet. He dodges it, but only barely.

A girl with long, blonde hair, a Shiketsu uniform, and a lopsided grin stands in front of her, her pale hair swishing with the momentum from her movements. Izuku blinks, raising his fists and sliding away from the wall just enough to lean back if he needs to. The girl grins wider.

“Ooh, you really know how to fight, don’t you?” she asks, tipping her head to the side and clasping her hands together. Izuku frowns. Something about her is strangely familiar, but he knows he’s never met this girl before.

“Who are you?” Izuku asks, dipping into a fighting stance and raising his fists. He doesn’t want to use his knives, not on another student and not if he doesn’t have to. The girl hums, tipping her head to the side.

“Camie,” she says, grinning, and in a flash of movement, she’s  _ gone _ . Izuku blinks, and it’s only because of his months and months of traveling the streets, the months and months of training with Aizawa, that he can sense where she’s moving. He feels the barest hint of wind brush his left arm, so little that he almost can’t feel it through the fabric of his costume. He reacts to the sensation just in time, blocking a high kick with the armguard of his left arm. It sends a shock of pain through the still-healing cuts and burns further up that arm.

“How are you doing that?” he grits out, sliding away from her. It looks like he was smart to give himself the wall--it gives him an entire space that she can’t appear from. 

“Do you think it’s my quirk?” Camie asks, tipping her head to the side, grinning still. “It’s not! It’s just how I learned to fight, you see.” Again, she slips away from Izuku’s field of vision, a quick, sliding movement. Izuku clenches his jaw, presses his back to the wall, again, and draws two of his knives from his belt. Camie reappears just in front of him, throwing a punch but stopping short when the light of the sun reflects off of one of Izuku’s blades.

“Oh, you have knives,” she says, her eyes widening and her mouth open in a small  _ o _ . “I can use mine too, then. Right?” she says, grinning, and Izuku feels that sense of deja vu again, mixed with heavy dread as she produces a small, gleaming switchblade from a pocket in her costume. 

“You--” Izuku starts, but then Camie’s rushing forward at him, eyes gleaming. He reacts on reflex, all of his training pouring itself into the way that he doesn’t just dodges out of the way of the knife. He jerks his head to the side as the knife slices at the concrete wall behind him, his eyes darting over to it, catching on the silver shine of the blade, and Izuku strikes out with a knife of his own, twisting his wrist and digging the tip of the blade into the flesh just below Camie’s wrist, along her radius, the bone guiding the blade in a slightly curved, bright red line on her skin. 

She slides back, her eyes sparkling with something strange. A cloud must pass over the sun, because it suddenly grows slightly darker where they’re standing as Camie lifts her wrist, placing her mouth over her wound, her tongue darting out to lap at the blood. Izuku watches her face curve strangely with  _ pleasure _ , and he’s struck with a sense of  _ wrongness _ .

“You’re not a Shiketsu student,” Izuku says, and Camie just laughs, her bright pink tongue moving over her arm, turning red-dark with blood. The area grows light again as the cloud shifts away from the bright, early-September sun. Camie’s pale gold hair glitters in the light, and her blood seems too bright, too red. Her laughter is strange, too. Familiar. Izuku has no idea who this girl is, but he knows she’s not normal. He can feel it in the unease that sets into his bones, heavy as it tugs at his heart.

“You’re so smart,” she says, letting her hand fall, swinging at her side. “Do you recognize me, Midoriya? I don’t think I could ever forget you.” Her lips turn up in a bright grin as she lifts the knife once more. “Now hold still,” she says. “I want to taste you bleed.” Izuku presses his lips into a thin line and tries to back up, his eyes widening, but he’s already back to the wall. Camie slashes at him, a quicker motion than last time, and even though Izuku sees it coming, there isn’t much that he can do to stop it. She cuts a thin, shallow cut through the front of Izuku’s uniform. Izuku gasps even though the pain isn’t anything serious, not for him. Blood beads up from the wound, and Izuku winces as he watches Camie bring her knife to her mouth, lapping up the couple of drops of blood there.

“Mm,” she hums, grinning and tiling her head to the side. Her blonde hair falls down like a curtain. “You taste nice alright, but I need more...” She swings forward again, but this time Izuku is faster to react. He slides to the side, then steps away from the wall, ducking forward and striking out with the knife in his right hand. He manages to catch the flesh at the top of Camie’s shoulder. It’s not as good as hitting her hand, but when she jumps back and facing him, knife at the ready, it’s good to not be the only one with an injury.

It reminds Izuku of his fight with Stain and Manami, as Camie makes a noise like a feral animal, deep and raw in her throat, and she rushes forward, slashing with the knife quickly. Izuku blocks it with his arm guard, slipping underneath her arm and slashing upward, digging his knife into the skin of her forearm once more. This time, it works, and the knife falls from Camie’s hand, landing on the ground with a clatter. Camie’s eyes widen slightly, and she looks shocked for a second before she smiles again.

“Aw, you’re pretty strong,” she says, sliding back as Izuku swipes at her with his knife again. “Is that how you got away from Fangirl and her friends?” She giggles, and Izuku jerks back, feeling his brows furrow.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, holding his knives up and gritting his teeth.  _ Nobody from Shiketsu should know the names of any of the Gekkeiju, even the ones at the summer camp _ . “How do you know that name?” 

“Oh, we should play a game!” Camie says, darting to the side, flashing in and out of Izuku’s vision. “If I answer a question, you should answer one. It’ll be fun,” she says, rushing forward at Izuku holding one of the balls from the exam. Izuku had almost forgotten, about that. He dodges back, out of the way, and picks up a ball of his own as he does. If he wins, he’ll be able to leave the field and... well, he can’t exactly tell someone that there’s a villain among the students, partly because he has no actual proof, but also because the only way he knows is that he’s technically a villain himself. Either way, beating the first stage of the exam will be something he needs to do. 

“You’ll tell the truth?” Izuku asks, a plan starting to form and condense in his mind. Camie nods, grinning. 

“Only if you promise to do it too!” she says. “I want to get to know you, after all. You’re pretty cool.” She smiles, leaning back. “You can go first, Deku!” She moves forward, coming at him with the ball in her hand, and Izuku dodges back, frowning.

“What’s your name?” he asks. “Your real name.” She smiles, something too-sharp to the teeth in her grin. 

“Oh, you really are  _ so _ cool,” she repeats. “If I tell you, you gotta promise to keep it secret, okay?” She giggles again, and Izuku uses the opportunity to slide to the side, slashing at her with a knife in one hand and a rubber ball in the other. She dodges the knife by leaning back, but Izuku taps the target on the outside of her arm.  _ Two to go _ .

“I won’t tell,” Izuku says, because he’s pretty doubtful that she’ll remember his promise in the first place.

“Himiko Toga!” she chirps, smiling. “I don’t know if I ever introduced myself before, though,” she adds, shrugging. Izuku swallows, gritting his teeth together.

“You’re in the League,” he says, not a question. Toga doesn’t reply either way, just dodges out of the way of Izuku’s next slash, jumping into the air and hopping  _ over _ Izuku, moving quickly.

“I guess I don’t need to hold back if you know who I am!” she says, laughing. “I think I’m going to keep this look, if you don’t mind. I don’t have anything to change into.” She strikes out at him with a kick aimed at his back, and Izuku can’t quite move fast enough to avoid it. The heel of her boot collides with his lower back, and Izuku falls to the ground, catching himself on his hands and knees. 

“Oh, it’s my turn to ask a question, isn’t it?” Toga says, laughing and moving behind Izuku, somewhere he can’t see, so he throws himself forward into a somersault, rolling out of her path. 

“It is,” he grits out, rolling onto his feet, in a low crouch. Toga steps forward, and as she darts out at him, Izuku reaches his ball out, letting her run the target stuck to the outside of her leg into it as she kicks Izuku’s chest. The impact hurts, but Izuku can tell that she’s more agility and speed than brute force. That, and he only has to keep going until he gets one more target, and then he wins.

“How’d you get out, anyway?” Toga asks, glancing down at the target glowing on her leg. “Aw, drat. I wanted to get to the next stage, too.” 

“They let me go,” Izuku says, easily. It’s the truth, after all, and more than that, it’s what the Gekkeiju had wanted him to say. 

“But you’re quirkless, aren’t you?” Toga asks, looking surprised. “I thought that group was collecting people with powerful quirks,” she says, tipping her head to the side and holding a finger to her chin. “Unless you’re not? Quirkless, that is.” She moves forward, a wicked grin on her face, and Izuku slides to the side, letting her run past him. He tries to reach out with the ball and strike her last target, one on her chest, but she grins and grabs his wrist, lightning quick. 

Izuku blinks and tries to jerk away, a sudden panic rising in his throat like lightning as he feels a strong hand on his arm. It doesn't matter that Toga is so much thinner than Fury, that Toga is holding his right wrist and not his left, that there’s an armguard between her hand and Izuku’s flesh. All that Izuku can see, for just a moment, is Fury, lighting a cigarette and smirking at Izuku with half-lidded eyes. For that heartbeat, Izuku loses track of reality completely.

“Huh, that’s weird!” Toga says, and she’s releasing his wrist, dancing away. Izuku blinks, swallowing as he slides away. He sees that another target is lit up on him, now, meaning that they’re both just one hit away from being out of the competition entirely. He feels something prickly and hot sitting in his throat, too, and his heart is thudding in his chest, hummingbird fast and too frantic. Izuku takes a deep breath, steadying himself.

“I-It’s my turn,” he says, darting forward with the ball in his hand. He keeps his other hand, the one with the knife, guarding the final target, the one over his heart. Toga’s last target is on the outside of her left hip, easy to hit but easy to guard. Izuku knows that either of them will have a harder time hitting the other now that they know where they’re aiming at, but he has no choice but to continue.

“Go ahead!” Toga chirps, swatting his strike away easily. “I already know what I’m asking.” Izuku swallows, takes a step back, then ducks forward. There’s another trick he can still try. 

“How does your quirk work?” he asks, sheathing his knife and moving the rubber ball to his left hand. His special move requires his right hand, and normally he’d do it with a knife in the first place, but in this fight, hurting his opponent doesn’t matter as much as it normally would. He watches Toga’s eyes track his movement, the sun shining onto her face and making her eyes shine.

“Easy,” she says, smiling. “If I drink someone’s blood, I can transform into them. I get their clothing, but if I’m not naked when I do it, my clothes just kind of stay on top, so it’s a bit inconvenient that way!” She explains it with a grin, looking cheerful. “Can I ask my question now?” Izuku returns her grin, even though he’s sure his is more of a grimace.

“Sure,” he says, and then he’s rushing forward, moving the ball like he’s going to strike her hip with it. Her hands move down, to block the target, but Izuku stretches his right arm out and grabs her by the shoulder. He twists and pulls, throwing her over his shoulder in an easy movement. He slams her down in front of him, reaching forward as she lands, bouncing slightly off of the ground, and he twists her arm behind her back. Normally, he’d level a knife at her throat, but instead, Izuku reaches lower and taps the target with his ball. It glows blue, and his own targets turn red.

“Ow,” Toga says, but she’s grinning as she turns back to look at him. “I guess you win,” she says. “I’m gonna ask anyway, though. How come you froze up when I grabbed your wrist?”

Izuku smiles despite himself, releasing her and stepping back. “Because you’re not the first person to have done it, Toga,” he says. She rises to her feet, giving him a wicked grin.

“Until next time, Deku,” she says, giving him a salute and turning, walking away. Izuku stands, watching her go for a few moments before he takes a deep breath and starts to move himself toward the area they’re supposed to go when they’re done. 

As he walks, feet tapping against the ground, the sounds of fighting all around him and the late summer sun hot on his shoulders, Izuku considers. He considers resetting, doing this all again with his knowledge and without giving Toga anything at all. He considers dying and taking Shinsou up on the offer of letting him tap out two of the students they’d bagged early on, considers doing this the easy way. 

But Izuku considers something else. He considers the tension, between the League and the Gekkeiju, when they were fighting over him. He considers the way that, in that short conversation, Toga had given him more intel on the group he’s working with than he’d  _ ever _ had before. He considers her quirk.

As Izuku walks to the area for those who have passed, as his friends greet and congratulate him, he thinks. A plan begins to form in his mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: flashback to torture
> 
> [discord!](https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt) it's 16+, please read the rules if u join
> 
> POGALICIOUS i love toga she slaps hard also i feel like shinsou was ooc here??? idk i really really need to reread bnha so that i can make sure im writing them right lmao


	58. provisional license exam, part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku does the first round of the licensing exam again, figures out that camie is toga, and beats her!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GAMERS SORRY THIS IS LATE i wrote like 99% of it and then simply forgot i hadn't posted it

The group of students who have already passed is a lot bigger than Izuku expects, to be honest. He hadn’t realized how long he was on the field, fighting, but it’s fine with him. When he sees Todoroki, Kacchan, Kirishima, Sero, Kaminari, and Shinsou all in the area, talking with two people from Shiketsu, it makes pride swell in his heart for his friends. Kirishima and Sero seem to be talking to one of the Shiketsu students, a guy covered in a thick layer of tawny hair that obscures any features he might have. The other Shiketsu student, a broad-shouldered man with a jacket hanging off of his back, is glaring daggers at Todoroki. It’s Kaminari who spots Izuku first, though, raising an arm and waving.

“Hey, there you are, dude!” Kaminari says, smiling wide. “Me and Shinsou were just talking about you,” he says, and Izuku blinks, glancing over to Shinsou as he finally reaches the rest of the group. 

“You were?” Izuku asks, glancing at Shinsou. 

“Yeah, man!” Kaminari says, leaning forward and nudging Izuku with an elbow. “You’re like freaky good in cities, aren’t you? You were like that in our final exam, too.” Izuku blinks, feeling his face flush slightly. 

“I-I’m not that good,” he says, raising his hands in front of his face. He knows that the only reason he  _ is _ good in cities is because of what he does as Ace. Having Shinsou and Kaminari pick up on his abilities is a sure way to bring its attention to Aizawa. Frankly, the fact that Aizawa hasn’t figured out that he’s Ace yet means that Izuku’s incredibly lucky. He doesn’t want to push it any more than he has to. 

“You scaled a wall,” Shinsou deadpans, raising a lavender eyebrow. Izuku swallows as Kaminari nods.

“Yeah, and you knew  _ exactly _ where to go during the match with Nezu! It was like you could see the city with your mind,” Kaminari says, tapping on the side of his forehead with one finger. Frankly, Izuku can’t actually remember what happened on the run through of the final exam that ended up becoming part of the permanent timeline, but it seems that no matter what, Kaminari remembers it too well.

“I-I’m not--it’s not t-that I--” Izuku starts, stuttering, but Shinsou cuts him off, waving a hand. 

“Calm down,” he says, rolling his eyes. “We were just thinking that if the second part of the exam takes place in the same arena, we should stick to the urban area. You’d provide a clear advantage.” Shinsou shoves his hands in his pockets, a bored look on his face, but Izuku can tell that it’s at least partially fake. He wonders how obvious he’s being, if Shinsou just knows that Izuku is uncomfortable or if he was able to figure out something more than just that.

“R-Right,” Izuku says, picking at the sleeve of his uniform idly. “Do you think they’d use the same arena?” he asks. From behind him, he hears Iida’s voice answer.

“Of course!” Iida says, and when Izuku turns around, he sees Iida, Uraraka, Tsuyu, Yaoyorozu, and Ashido walking up to them. Not far away, he can see the rest of class 1-A mulling about in the area for those who passed part one.

“It would make sense,” Yaoyorozu says, nodding. “I don’t believe there’s another space large enough to accommodate all one hundred examinees.” Izuku blinks, remembering that only one hundred would be allowed to pass the first part. He opens his mouth to ask how many spots are left, but he’s stopped as a huge blast rocks the area, shaking the ground. Izuku whips around to look back at the stadium, where he sees a number of smaller blasts go off, decimating the field.

“What on--” Kaminari starts, but he’s interrupted by an announcement.

“All one hundred spots have been filled,” Yokumiru says, sounding tired even through the intercom. “The second portion of the exam will be a rescue operation. Professional victims from the Help Us Company will be getting set up on the field. You have ten minutes to rest, and then you will be expected to rescue the civilians.” He sighs into the microphone, sending a crackly, staticky sound through the speakers. “You’ll be graded by points. You start with one hundred, and for any mistake you make, points will be deducted. You’ll fail if you fall under fifty points, so be careful.” Izuku swallows, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides as the speaker shuts off with a slight crackle. 

“It’s like Kamino, isn’t it?” Kirishima says from where he, Sero, and Kacchan are standing, and Izuku turns to look at him. He’s got a solemn look on his normally smiling face. Beside him, Kacchan clicks his tongue and turns, stalking away. Izuku frowns, biting at his lip.

Iida says, “It is, isn’t it?” Izuku glances over to see his friend’s shoulders slump slightly, some of the sun from the stadium spilling into their waiting area and casting a bright line across half of his body. “I wish that we’d been able to do something to help the civilians, at that time. We were so focused on just staying alive ourselves...”

“It was shameful,” Yaoyorozu says, nodding. Her eyebrows pull down towards her eyes, and her gaze drops to the floor. “We have all of this training, we should have been able to--”

“You did the best you could,” Tsuyu says with a firm voice, cutting her off. Izuku watches as Yaoyorozu looks up at her quickly, surprise painting her features. Tsuyu continues, “It doesn’t help to look back at the past as a mistake, ribbit. You have to remain positive and move forward onto the present.” Her gaze shifts to Izuku. “I overheard some of what Shinsou and Kaminari were saying, Midoriya. I think it would make sense if we split up according to who’s good at what, so you should go to the city, ribbit.” Izuku blinks, and then nods, determination filling him.

“R-Right,” he says, glancing around. “Uraraka should come, too,” he says, and he sees Uraraka’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Me?” she asks, pointing to herself, her face looking surprised behind her pink visor. Izuku nods. 

“Y-Your quirk would be really good for moving rubble,” he says, “and I don’t think it’d be wise for any of us to go alone. I don’t have a quirk, so that’s especially true for me.” Uraraka nods, holding a fist up.

“Right!” she says, smiling. “I’ll do my best.” Izuku smiles back at her. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Shinsou shift on his feet, humming.

“I can’t exactly use my quirk either,” Shinsou points out, sighing heavily. “Not on victims, anyway.” His gaze shifts to Kaminari. “You can't either, right? Electricity isn’t going to be much use here.” He says it matter of factly, not in a rude way, but Kaminari still grimaces, bringing up a hand to rub the side of his head. 

“Yeah, no, my quirk is kind of useless in this situation,” he says, his gaze moving to Izuku. “Maybe we should go with you and Uraraka, Midoriya? Both of us have worked with you before.” Beside him, Shinsou nods.

“I agree,” he says. He gestures forward, where Iida, Kirishima, and Sero are all discussing something. “I think other groups are forming already.” He tips his head, glancing at the stadium with a thoughtful look on his face. “They’re probably going to put more victims in the city, anyway. Most of us are more likely to work in an urban environment, so that makes sense.”

Izuku nods. “T-That’s a good point,” he says, biting at his lower lip, thinking. “If we get into trouble, there’ll be other people nearby, so--” Izuku’s cut off by an announcement over the loudspeakers. He blinks as the speakers crackle on.

“Alright, it’s been ten minutes,” Yokumiru says, a sigh in his voice. “Your time starts now.” Izuku swallows, glancing at his group. Shinsou, Kaminari, and Uraraka meet his eyes, and then each others’, and then they’re off.

Getting back into the stadium is more difficult than Izuku would have expected. The rubble is  _ everywhere,  _ creating piles where there had been walkways and paths where there had been buildings. Izuku’s glad, at least, that the city is on the outskirts, because it means it’s easy enough for him to hug the outside of the stadium before he leads his group into the mock city itself.

They step into the ruined city at a place where a skyscraper has collapsed in on itself, turning it into a mound of twisted metal and sparkling crystals of broken glass. The sun shines down on it, making it glitter, and there’s a spray of glass and broken concrete chunks that coats the street. What catches Izuku’s eye, immediately upon stepping into the city, is the blood.

It isn’t real; he can tell that without thinking too hard or looking closely. It’s too transparent, too thin. Real blood is opaque and thick in a way that makes it look almost like paint, but this is more like a syrup. It’s spread under the glass and metal remains, streaked along the street, and pooled outside an uncollapsed building not too far from where the four of them stand. Izuku is struck, immediately, by the fact that if this blood were real and it were from one person, that person would surely be dead.

“Okay,” he says, taking a deep, steadying breath. “We need to figure out how many people are in this area, where they are, and how badly they’re hurt.” He glances to his friends, and he’s not surprised to see looks of horror on Uraraka and Kaminari’s faces. Shinsou doesn’t look  _ scared _ or  _ intimidated _ ; his expression is more grim than anything else, his lips pressed into a thin line and his eyebrows creased.

“Shinsou, you and Kaminari go and check that building,” Izuku says, pointing them to the uncollapsed building with blood all around the outside of it. “Uraraka, we’ll work on this skyscraper. I think there’s someone underneath,” he says, speaking quickly but firmly. He doesn’t want to see either Uraraka or Kaminari freeze up and lose focus, and he hopes that pairing them up with himself and Shinsou will help them to get into the groove of things. It’s strange for Izuku to realize, but even with all of the emergency situations that 1-A has been through, he’s been through more on his own. It doesn’t explain Shinsou, though.  _ Why isn’t he scared, too? _

“G-Got it,” Uraraka says, giving herself a little shake. Izuku spares Shinsou one more glance, but when Shinsou nods, purple hair reflecting the too-bright sun, Izuku diverts his full attention to the building beside them. 

“We need to be careful about this glass,” Izuku says, grimacing as a chunk of it crunches under his boot as he steps forward. “We could easily get hurt ourselves, or the civilians could be injured.” He moves forward, looking around, but all he sees is blood spatters and their reflections in the shiny, bright glass. He frowns.

“H-Hey,” Uraraka says, cupping one hand over her mouth and raising her voice. “Is there anyone here? We’re here to help,” she says, voice loud and clear. Izuku feels a small smile pull at his lips. 

“Good idea,” he whispers, and Uraraka returns his smiles just as they hear a small voice, a child’s voice.

“H-Here!” the boy says, shaky and quiet. For just a moment, it makes Izuku’s heart stutter, before he sees the fake, too-clear blood and reminds himself that this isn’t real. There aren’t any actual victims here.  _ This kid is a really good actor, though. _

“We’re coming!” Izuku says, picking his way carefully through the glass. A shard pulls at the fabric of his pants, but not hard enough to tear the fabric, and he grimaces. He can see the boy, now that he knows where he is, huddling under an overhang of what must be supporting concrete from the building. The space he’s in is small, with a mound of broken glass piled on top of the concrete, making it precarious. The entrance is almost entirely blocked by bent and torn iron rebar, dark even in the light. Izuku blinks as he sees the boy start to crawl forward, shimmying along the ground.

“D-Don’t move!” Izuku says, and the boy freezes. “Just wait, okay? We’re coming!”

The boy’s face twitches, his lip wobbling like he’s threatening to cry, but he nods, shaky. There’s a trail of that fake blood running down the side of his face, and Izuku wonders if he’s supposed to have a head wound. 

“Deku,” Uraraka says, and when Izuku glances back, she’s just a few feet behind him. “How are we going to get him out?” She bites at her lower lip. “The glass--”

“Are you really going to talk like that where I can hear you?” the boy asks, rolling his eyes. They reflect the light of the sun just barely, his face still in shadow. “Jeez, that’s a point deduction if I’ve even seen one. If I was a real civilian, that’s a sure way to make me panic.” Beside Izuku, Uraraka stiffens, color coming to her face. Izuku frowns, looking between her and the boy.

“It’ll be okay,” he says, to both of them, he looks to Uraraka, lowering his voice. “I think we can get him out. If he’s not too injured, I can carry him, and my costume should protect me.” He looks to the boy, raising his voice. “I’m going to come and get you out now, okay? Just hold still and try to stay calm.” 

Izuku takes a few steps forward, moving carefully along the field of broken glass. He hasn’t had training on rescue situations, not more than a couple of classes--none of 1-A have. The only thing Izuku has to base how he treats the victims off of is how he knows  _ he _ had wanted to be treated, when he was in danger or hurt or scared. All Izuku wanted, when he was scared and trapped and didn’t know if he’s get out, cream walls growing high around him in the basement, was for someone to tell him that it would be okay and that he would survive. For someone to scoop him up and patch up his wounds and get him to safety. For someone to make sure he wasn’t alone, whether he died or not.

Izuku shuffles forward, crouching down to look under the concrete above the boy’s body. He casts a glance up, seeing Uraraka standing with her hands at the ready, close enough to float the concrete in an instant if it were to slip. Izuku takes a deep breath, then turns to the boy. It’s dark in the shade of the little cave the concrete has made, but Izuku can see blood on the boy’s shoulder and head for sure. 

“Hey there,” Izuku says, giving the boy a shaky smile. “I’m here now, okay? Everything’s going to be alright, but I need you to tell me where you’re hurt.” He can’t see all of the boy, not with how narrow the space he’s in is. The boy bites at his lower lip, staring up at Izuku with huge eyes. 

“M-My head, and my shoulder...” he says, then looks at the ground. “I-I twisted my ankle, too, I think. I was so scared...” He hiccups, raising a hand to wipe at his face. Izuku swallows.

“I know it’s scary,” Izuku says. “You’re really, really brave, okay? Let’s get you out of there.” He offers a hand to the boy, who blinks up at him and takes it, his skin warm. Izuku tugs him forward a short bit, just enough for Izuku to grasp him under his armpits and pull him out of the rubble, into the sunlight. The boy squints and hisses at the light, shutting one eye. Izuku grimaces, trying to remember what a fireman’s carry looks like, when he feels the boy’s weight lift off of him.

“I’ve got you,” Uraraka says, her voice firm and confident, and Izuku blinks, turning to see her floating the boy with her quirk, holding onto him by his uninjured arm and leg. 

“Good,” the boy says, a smirk on his face. “Just a tip for next time, though, any head injuries need their spine cleared before moving them.” Izuku blinks, then nods, and the boy seems to slip back into character, looking scared and hurt all over again. Izuku glances around, and he sees a girl off in the distance waving at them. 

“You can bring him over here!” she calls. “We’ve got a first aid station,” she says, pointing to an area that Izuku can see is bustling with people. He thinks he sees Sero and Tsuyu there, but it’s too distant to be sure.

“I’ll go,” Uraraka says, giving Izuku a confident smile. “I think I’ve got a clear enough path, anyway. You should make sure Kaminari and Shinsou are doing okay.” Izuku blinks, then nods, turning to head to the building he’d directed Shinsou and Kaminari into. He still has to walk carefully to not send any glass through the soles of his boots, but it seems to go faster now that he’s used to it. He follows the trail of bright blood, splattered along the asphalt. It’s drying quickly in the sun, and the way it dries is even less realistic than when it’s wet--it dries red, for one, not brown. It’s strangely comforting, the way it doesn’t look real at  _ all _ .

“Shinsou, Kaminari!” Izuku calls, shouting as he gets out of the glass enough to speed up to a jog.

“In here!” Kaminari’s voice replies, from inside the building. “We’ve got it, though!” He sounds a little strained, but after a moment’s pause, Izuku decides to trust his friends. He turns, scanning the area with his eyes. On the same block as the building housing Kaminari and Shinsou, he can see a telephone pole collapsed over the road, smashing into a red car. It doesn’t look like there’s anyone inside, but Izuku can see people moving on the other side, and he realizes that the car and the telephone are blocking the way to the first aid area to his left. Izuku grits his teeth, jogging forward to get closer. 

Upon closer inspection, Izuku is pretty sure that the car isn’t a real car at all. There isn’t anything where the engine should be, even with the hood of the car twisted and crumpled like paper. He’s sure, now, that there’s nobody inside--and even if there were, there wouldn’t be any point in trying to save them. The cabin of the car is completely crushed, with the thick wooden telephone pole at about shoulder height for Izuku. It casts a shadow on his legs, just above the knee, as he stands, looking over the area.

Izuku knows that he isn’t going to be able to move the car or the telephone pole, not by himself. It’d take some kind of strength quirk to do that, which Izuku doesn’t have. He glances around, spotting one of the car’s doors, thrown to the side and laying on the ground, and it gives him an idea.

Izuku moves to a pile of rubble nearby, a mountain of red brick that was probably once a house. Izuku pulls at the pile, tugging some bricks with him back over to the telephone pole. It’s not going to be perfect by any means, but Izuku starts to pile red brick on the ground a few feet from the telephone pole and the car. He moves quickly, sweat running down the side of his face, and soon he has a small pile. He runs back over to the car door, then, picking it up and hauling it up onto a shoulder. 

It’s surprisingly heavy, but Izuku supposes it’s a fairly large door, and it’s mostly metal. He moves as fast as he can with it pressing down on his shoulder, and he leans it against the telephone pole, the pile of brick he’d made both raising it up enough that it’s tall enough to reach the top of the telephone pole and stopping it from sliding forward to lie flat on the ground. Izuku grits, taking a second to wipe sweat from his brow, then dashes back over to the brick rubble pile. He adds a few to the base of the pile, completing the ramp up to the top of the telephone pole.  _ Now to do the other side, _ he thinks to himself as he tests it, climbing up the bricks and the car door. He reaches the top, standing easily on top of the telephone pole, and he glances down into the surprised eyes of two students he doesn’t recognize, one of them carrying an injured old man and the other kicking rubble out of the way with a huge foot. 

“Hey!” Izuku says, smiling. “Need a hand?” he says, and the two students look at each other, then back at Izuku with a grin on each of their faces. The one who’s holding the old man has short, buzzed blonde hair, and they jerks a thumb to the side at their friend, a girl with dark, curly hair that poofs out around her head. 

“I’m gonna have her lift him, with her quirk, and then I’ll come to the other side and help you?” they ask, tipping their head and returning their hand to support the man they’re carrying piggyback style. Izuku nods, and he waits as the blonde student carefully passes the old man, who appears semi-conscious, to the curly haired woman, who holds him bridal style.

“Up we go,” the woman murmurs, her legs growing larger and larger until she’s standing even with Izuku, even with him at the top of the fallen telephone pole. She passes the man to Izuku, who takes him, grimacing under his weight. Izuku isn’t unfit by any means, but he still goes slow as he turns and inches down his makeshift ramp, not looking up from the ground even as he hears the blonde kid’s footsteps as they approach.

“I can take ‘im from here,” they say, holding out their arms. Izuku nods, passing the old man to them. As he does, he feels something strange tugging at his clothes, coming from the blonde student’s hands.  _ They must have some kind of pulling quirk, like my mom’s _ , Izuku thinks. The curly haired girl with the enlargement quirk steps off of the ramp behind him, giving him a smile.

“Thanks for the assist!” she says, dark eyes sparkling. “We’ll get him to the first aid station.” Izuku nods, smiling back at her, and he turns to head back to where he knows Shinsou and Kaminari were, earlier, when he hears a loud crash, not unlike the explosions that turned the arena into ruin in the first place. 

Izuku whips around, hearing a loud, cackling laugh and seeing a shockwave ripple out from the center of the stadium. He braces himself, forearms guarding his face as the force knocks sand and dust into his eyes. As the blast fades and he squints into the distance, trying to make out what had just happened, the loudspeakers crackle to life above him.

“Villains have appeared on the scene. You’ll need to suppress them and continue rescue operations at the same time,” Yokumiru says, and then another, familiar voice speaks.

“It is I, Evil Gang Orca!” Gang Orca says, laughter in his voice. “I wonder if you’ll be able to save everyone, even with me here?” Izuku swallows, glancing around. He sees Shinsou and Kaminari jogging toward him. There's a smear of fake blood on Shinsou’s chest, where he must have carried someone, but Izuku doesn’t have time to ask about that. 

“Kaminari,” he says quickly, a little out of breath. “You should go help fight. Your quirk can take out a lot of villains at once.” Izuku shifts his gaze to Shinsou, opening his mouth to speak. “Shinsou, do you think--”

“No,” Shinsou says, cutting Izuku off with a shake of his head. “I’m sure Gang Orca already knows about my quirk. I’ll stay here.” Izuku nods, but the sound of footsteps running up to them distracts him from what he was going to say next. 

“Hey!” Uraraka says as she jogs forward, her voice just a little out of breath. “What’s the plan?” she asks, glancing between the three of them.

“I’m gonna go fight,” Kaminari says, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Damn, I’m not looking forward to facing off against the number ten hero, though...”

“You’ll do fine,” Shinsou says, surprising Izuku slightly. “It’s not like he’d fight with his full force against us for the exam.” Kaminari blinks, then nods, a determined grin spreading over his face and his golden blonde hair shining in the sun. 

“Right!” Kaminari says. “You can count on me, then,” he says, jerking a thumb at his over chest. He glances in the direction of the explosion, then takes a deep breath. “I’ll be going, then.”

“Good luck, Kaminari,” Uraraka says, and Izuku nods.

“You’ve got this,” he says, and Kaminari nods, looking slightly distracted. He starts off, jogging through the rubble. Izuku watches for just a moment, then turns back to Uraraka and Shinsou.

“We should clear paths to the first aid station,” Izuku says, “and we can rescue people we find on the way. With the introduction of villains, there might be more victims, and we should stick together to be safe.” He pats his belt. “Even if I don’t have a quirk, I can fight.”

Uraraka smiles, raising an eyebrow at him. “Deku, we know you can fight. You’re better at it than anyone else in 1-A, I think,” she says, and Izuku blinks, his eyes opening wide. Before he can reply to that, before he can deny it or question it, though, Uraraka starts forward, jogging in the direction of the first aid station. 

“This path is clear, but the one to the east is blocked by a bunch of rubble,” she says, glancing over her shoulder. Izuku and Shinsou start after her. “I think I can lift most of it up, but I’ll need help with some of the smaller pieces if I don’t want to hit my limit.” 

Izuku nods. “And one of us can keep watch,” he says, glancing over to Shinsou, who nods quickly. “If any villains approach, we should try to use your quirk to make them sleep, Shinsou.”

Shinsou grimaces. “I can only do that if I can focus,” he says, “so unless I’ve got all of the villains in the area under my control, it’s probably not an option.” Izuku nods, pressing his lips together.

“That’s okay, then,” he says, hopping over a chunk of concrete. “I can fight most people with my knives, but if it’s someone with a quirk like Kirishima’s, it might be difficult for me.” He sees Shinsou nod out of the corner of his eyes as they run into the parking lot that’s been converted into a first aid center. Students move about quickly, using first aid kits and quirks to patch up victims. Izuku’s struck by just how  _ many _ of them there are; there has to be at least fifty victims already in the area. 

“Over there,” Uraraka says, gesturing to the east. The path is blocked by grey concrete, streaked in sunlight and crumbled into a heap. They run up to it, stopping just short of it, and Uraraka steps forward, starting to brush dust off of a large chunk.

“Wait,” Izuku says, then cups his hands over his mouth. “Hey!” he shouts, loud enough that he’s sure anyone on the other side would hear him. “We’re about to start dismantling this pile. Is anyone on the other side?” Izuku waits, taking a deep breath and using the back of his hand to wipe sweat from his brow. He feels grit from the dust scrap into his forehead as he does, not painful but present. After a moment with no reply, Izuku turns to Uraraka and nods quickly. 

“Good thinking,” Shinsou says as the largest chunk of concrete floats up, wobbling slightly in the air. Little pieces of concrete and concrete dust rain down onto the ground below, but with the largest piece floating, it’s easy for Izuku to see that the pile is really made up of three big pieces, one of which Uraraka is already floating over to the side. 

“I’ll start on the small pieces,” Izuku says, reaching down to grab a few chunks. “You keep watch, Shinsou.” Izuku sees Shinsou nod, and he takes it. He starts to throw the chunks of broken concrete to the side, slowly but surely clearing a path. The sun is hot on his back, but he pushes through it. 

So far, he thinks the exam is going well, and it’s catching him off guard, to be honest. He steps back as Uraraka floats the second large piece, her brows furrowed in concentration as the concrete lifts off of the ground, then floats gently to the side. Izuku hopes she isn’t pushing herself too much--she’s looking a little pale, but it isn’t easy to see for sure with the pink tint to her visor. Izuku watches as she releases that chunk, pressing her hands together. 

“Guys!” Kaminari’s voice startles Izuku, and he whips his head around to see Kaminari running toward them, his hero costume streaked with soot and his blonde hair tousled. 

“Are you okay?” Izuku asks, dropping the chunks of concrete he’s carrying and hurrying over to his classmate. Kaminari waves his hand at Izuku, shaking his head.

“I’m fine, but Todoroki and wind dude are fighting,” he says, out of breath. “They’re making things worse, and I can’t do anything without shocking them. You two should go, I can help Uraraka,” he says, his lips pressing into a line. “I think Todoroki will listen to you, Izuku. But you need to hurry.”

Izuku nods, glancing to Shinsou. Shinsou’s brows furrow slightly, and his lips dip into a grimace, but he turns, making eye contact with Izuku.

“Let’s go,” he says, and Izuku nods, humming in agreement. They turn and run towards the scene of the battle, bright, brilliant flames and twisting, whip-like winds painting the horizon. Izuku swallows as he recognizes Todoroki’s fire and the whirlwind power that had gotten him out the first time through the beginning of the exam. 

_ This isn’t going to be easy, is it? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: uhhh i dont think there's anything
> 
> [discord!](https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt)
> 
> if ur reading this ur pog af and i hope ur having a nice day/night. take care of urself!!


	59. provisional license exam, part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku starts on the second part of the exam, which is going good thus far

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI PPOGCHAMPS i've done nothing but watch 2 movies and a bunch of naruto today lolz im so behind on schoolwork

Izuku can see the fight far before he actually gets to it. Todoroki and the wind kid (he should really get his name at some point) make an equilateral triangle with Gang Orca in a large, cleared area, where the explosion earlier must have destroyed any buildings or features. The wind guy is closest to Izuku, his back facing him, and Izuku can see a lick of flame cling to the edge of his coat for a moment before a sharp turn of the wind snuffs it out. 

Todoroki is staring the Shiketsu student down, not Gang Orca, and that’s Izuku’s first sign that something is wrong with his friend. Todoroki isn’t the type to lose focus during a battle, not like this, and from the snarl on his face, the low, angry brows, Todoroki is  _ furious _ . Izuku swallows, unease building in his throat as he glances to Gang Orca. It’s funny, because the “villain” in this scenario is wearing much the same expression Izuku thinks that he’s wearing; mild alarm and confusion mix with something else on his face. He’s wearing a cape and a bodysuit that isn’t his usual costume--probably part of the whole “villain” act. 

Izuku turns his gaze to examine the space in front of him, where the three of them are facing off. The brown-red stone has been blasted smooth, making a battlefield at least one hundred feet wide. The ground is cracked and split, though, like it’s been hit by an earthquake, and Izuku frowns as he scans the area again, because only a quirk could have done something like that here. He spots the person who must be the source not too far away, a head of curly black hair and bare, tanned shoulders collapsed at what looks to be the center of the quake. 

Izuku moves forward quickly, sliding among the rock and avoiding the licks of flame and bursts of wind that fill the air as Todoroki and the Shiketsu dude try to fight Gang Orca. He can see a trembling in the collapsed guy’s shoulders, which tells Izuku that he’s alive, but Izuku’s still worried enough to clench his teeth together as he skids to a stop in front of the boy. 

“Hey,” Izuku says, breathless. “Are you okay? Wait, dumb question.” He shakes his head, carefully looking over the person in front of him. “I’m going to get you out of here. Can you hear me?” 

The boy does him one better, lifting his head to look up at Izuku with brown eyes. He gives Izuku a shaky smile, starting to push himself up with shaky hands. Izuku moves forward to help him, steadying him as he moves into a sitting position.

“Ugh, sorry,” the guy says, rubbing the back of his head with a twitching, shaking hand. “Gang Orca’s paralysis and my quirk backlash aren’t a great combo, but I’m okay as long as those two don’t blast me to death,” he says, his gaze looking past Izuku, to the battlefield. “You Shindou, by the way,” he says, tipping his head to the side slightly. “You’re Midoriya, right? I saw you on TV.” 

Izuku blinks, then nods. “Y-Yeah, that’s me,” he says, casting a glance back over his shoulder as he feels a fiery heat pass over him, a blast of orange-red flame brushing past him. “Um, what happened, with Todoroki and, uh,” he pauses, glancing to Shindou, who sighs.

“Inasa Yoarashi,” Shindou says, his gaze moving to watch the fight still raging behind Izuku. “And I’m not totally sure, but they had some kind of an argument, and now they’re, well, you can see it yourself.” He moves his hand like he’s trying to gesture at the fight, but his arm is shaking too hard, and he drops it with a wince.

“Alright,” Izuku says, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “We should get you somewhere safer to recover,” he says, casting a glance over his shoulder. The way he came is still fairly clear, and it looks like the fight is shifting slightly away from that direction. Izuku should be able to get Shindou back to the street, at least. 

“Sounds good,” Shindou says, his tone light hearted but his voice shaking slightly. Izuku wonders if he’s in more pain than he lets on, or if it's just the effects of his quirk. 

“I-I’m going to try and pick you up,” Iziuku says, waiting until Shindou nods before he reaches down and lifts up the boy, hauling him up by his armpits. He’s far too heavy for Izuku to lift completely, even with all of his training, and he hisses in frustration as he starts to tug Shindou out of the dip in the ground he’d been collapsed in.

“Sorry, my bones are thicker than normal, so I’m heavier,” Shindou says, sounding apologetic. “It’s part of my quirk, helps to reduce the recoil.” 

Izuku nods, not wanting to waste any energy on trying to reply. He looks behind him, watching his steps on the cracked and distorted rock as he backs up, pulling Shindou with him. It’s only after a moment of carrying the other student, sweat dripping down Izuku’s back unpleasantly, when Izuku feels a rush of sharp, strong wind, enough to topple him over. Instinctively, he rolls with the movement, catching himself on hands and knees and putting his body between Shindou and the blast. 

Biting wind hits first, then a rush of flame, not directly hitting his skin but enough to scald him even through the fabric of his costume. Izuku bites his lower lip, letting his razor teeth cut a thin line in the flesh as he squeezes his eyes shut and waits for the heat and pain to fade away to a lingering burn. He opens his eyes to see Shindou staring back up at him, dark eyes wide and surprised, and Izuku is grateful he’d thought to guard him. Shindou’s costume is shirtless; he’d have been burned far worse.

As it is, Izuku has been in far more pain than this. He turns, getting to his feet, and it doesn’t surprise him when he sees Yoarashi and Todoroki standing close to one another. Yoarashi is looking down on Todoroki, a scowl on his face as he says something Izuku can’t make out, and Todoroki looks on with a sneer that Izuku’s only seen directed at villains and Endeavor before. Izuku grits his teeth and shouts.

“Todoroki, what the  _ hell _ are you doing?” he screams, his voice raw and angry. He can feel the fresh burns on his back--probably only first degree, but enough to spur him on. “Are you trying to fight Gang Orca, or trying to kill someone?” Izuku asks, watching Todoroki’s eyes widen and his head turn to look at Izuku, his red and white hair whipping in Yoarashi’s wind.

“Midoriya?” Todoroki says, surprise in his voice. His eyes widen again, his brow creasing in worry. Izuku glances down at himself and sees that his costume is charred. For a moment, Izuku feels guilty, for what he’s about to say, but he hardens his expression and takes a breath.

“You burned me,” Izuku says, his voice loud and clear but controlled, measured. “You burned me, because you were angry and you weren’t paying attention to who was in your way.” Izuku gestures down and behind him, where Shindou is resting on the ground. “He can’t  _ move _ , Todoroki. Would you have been able to forgive yourself if you’d seriously hurt someone because you couldn’t see past your anger?” Izuku grits his teeth as he sees horror fill Todoroki’s face. Not far from him, something sharp and triumphant grows on Yoarashi’s.

“You’re just like your father,” Yoarashi spits, and Todoroki’s face is twisting in anger again as he whirls around to look at Yoarashi. Izuku hisses a frustrated breath out between his teeth. 

“I’m nothing like him,” Todoroki says, voice rough with anger. He takes a step toward Yoarashi, ice crackling up along his right side and flames lapping at his left. 

“Shut  _ up,  _ both of you!” Izuku shouts, and both of their gazes turn to him. “This isn’t the time or the place.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Gang Orca says, his voice rumbling from off to the side. Izuku blinks, whirling around, but he’s met with a barrage of rocks and stone that he raises his arms to block. He squints around his arms, hearing crashes and yells, and he sees a sidekick villain aiming an outstretched hand at Izuku, firing off another shot of rock and stone and dust. Izuku grits his teeth, stepping in front of Shindou so that none of the shot will hit him. As Izuku braces himself, rock and stone hitting him with bruising force, he hears a horrible, high pitched keening sound that he recognizes as the sonic attack from Gang Orca’s quirk. Izuku slips a hand to his belt, and the second the rocks and stone slows to a stop, he flings a knife out at the villian. As soon as he sees it hit, blood spraying from the villain’s shoulder, Izuku is whirling around.

“You reap what you sow,” Gang Orca says, voice low and full of false laughter. He’s pinning Todoroki down, and then there’s another wave of fresh, awful sound. Izuku grits his teeth, wincing at it, and he knows even before it fades that Todoroki is paralyzed. He can see Yoarashi off to the side, lying stomach down on the rocks, his face twisted and his limbs unmoving. He looks beyond pissed, but Izuku doesn’t have time to deal with his feelings. 

He starts to take a step forward, to jump in and help his friends, but he remembers Shindou at the last moment. He glances back just in time to see Shindou shakily pulling himself to his hands and knees. Shindou slams a hand down on the earth in front of him, shattering and destroying the ground behind Izuku. Izuku watches as villains that he hadn’t even noticed are knocked over, trapped in the rock.

“I’m okay,” Shindou says, giving Izuku a smile before Izuku can even ask. “I’m used to the side effects of my quirk. I can defend myself, even if I’m still numb.” Izuku nods quickly, turning and wasting no time in running forward, toward where Yoarashi and Todoroki are frozen on the ground. 

He slides along the rock, digging his boots into the earth and gritting his teeth as he tries to move quickly along the unstable ground. Gang Orca is moving toward where Shindou is still stopping the sidekicks, probably to help out his team, but Izuku is between the two of them. Izuku draws a knife from his belt and one from his arm guard, gripping the hilts of each firmly in his palms. His back aches and burns, and the thin cut on his chest from his fight with Toga stings as sweat drips into it, but Izuku doesn’t pause. 

“You’re not going anywhere,” Izuku snarls, and he launches himself at Gang Orca. Gang Orca turns, blinking in surprise as Izuku darts into his space, slashing upward at his stomach with the knife in his left hand. Gang Orca dodges with a step back, something that might be an impressed look on his face.

“Oh, knives,” Gang Orca says, his voice lifting a little with amusement. “I forgot that they were letting you kids bring in weapons if they’re part of your costume.” Izuku doesn’t stop as the pro talks; he raises a knee, slamming it into Gang Orca’s stomach. It doesn’t  _ do _ anything, though, even though it hits; Gang Orca’s torso feels like a rock, it’s so muscular. Gang Orca laughs, a cackling, mock-evil laugh that Izuku hates. 

Izuku can’t use his special move on Gang Orca--he knows already that the pro hero is too strong for Izuku to shoulder flip him normally, let alone to twist him around and point his knife at his neck. Gang Orca is also too  _ large _ , Izuku muses as he grits his teeth and dodges a firm punch aimed at his gut.  _ I’ll need to come up with another special move, or at least one that can be used on larger opponents _ , he thinks, and then he’s moving without thinking. 

Gang Orca’s arm is right in front of Izuku, still extended from the punch he’d just thrown. Izuku leans forward, sinking his teeth into the meat of his arm. The razors attached to his teeth make the motion both smoother and bloodier than it would usually be, and he hears Gang Orca grunt in pain, trying to jerk his arm back. Izuku’s mouth fills with salty, hot blood, rushing out of the wound quickly. Izuku releases Gang Orca, sliding back as Gang Orca does the same.

“Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting  _ that _ ,” Gang Orca grumbles, pressing the hand of his uninjured arm over the wound. Dark blood bubbles out of it, and Izuku spits onto the ground. The already-clotting blood tastes like pennies in his mouth, and Izuku gags a little at the taste. He’s used to normal blood by now, but Gang Orca’s tastes sharper, more marine. 

“Todoroki, Yoarashi,” Izuku says, pausing to spit out another mouthful of bloody spit. “Are you conscious?” He doesn’t have the time to spare a glance back at them, because Gang Orca is crouching into a fighting stance.  _ He’s taking this more seriously _ .

“We are,” Todoroki shouts, loud enough for Izuku to heart even as he dodges Gang Orca’s kick. “I’m sorry, Midoriya,” he says, but Izuku just grits his teeth. 

“I am, too!” Yoarashi shouts. “I was being foolish, and it put you in danger. I apologize!” Izuku wants to reply, but he sees Gang Orca open his mouth for a supersonic attack. Izuku drops to the ground, pressing himself into the earth and hoping it puts him low enough, far enough away from the blast aimed at his head. He covers his ears and braces himself, feeling the air warp and vibrate around him.

“Stay down!” Todoroki shouts, and Izuku gladly complies. Even though it wasn’t a direct hit, he can feel his body shaking, disoriented from Gang Orca’s attack. He trusts Todoroki well enough to not tell him to stay put unless he had a reason to. Izuku stays down, pressed into the earth, as the sound of quick, violent wind and crackling flame whips to life. Izuku can’t see behind him, but he sees Gang Orca as the windstorm and the fire collide on top of him, swirling and roaring into an orange-gold basket of flame. Izuku stares at it in awe, the light from the fire burning his eyes. 

He’s close enough to it that the heat stings at his skin, so Izuku pulls himself to his hands and knees, crawling back out of the way of the flames. He doesn’t think he’d be able to stand, not for another minute or so, judging by the faint trembling in his calf muscles. As he turns, he looks up, and he sees Todoroki and Yoarashi facing each other, speaking quietly. They’re still both on the ground, immobilized for the most part, but what Izuku really notices is their faces. Todoroki, who had looked so angry before, his admiration for Yoarashi shining in his eyes, and Yoarashi doesn’t look like he wants to curbstomp Todoroki at  _ all _ . 

As Izuku pulls himself toward them, he sees Todoroki turn and look at him, his eyes widening slightly. Izuku can see the reflection of the firestorm in Todoroki’s eyes, bright and golden and rippling, start to fade as a loud roar fills the air, and he knows what Todoroki will say even before Todoroki speaks.

“Midoriya, behind you!” he shouts, and Izuku rolls onto his back quickly, pulling himself into something that kind of passes for a crouch. The fire around Gang Orca is fading, flickering away and dying, and Gang Orca is dripping with water.  _ He must keep some on him, _ Izuku realizes as Gang Orca’s lips spread in a smile.

“Good! But what’s next?” he asks, looking down at the three of them. Izuku takes a deep breath, and pulls himself to his feet. He’s shaky and uneven, and he  _ knows _ he won’t win this fight, but he draws his last knife from his left arm guard anyway. 

“Hey, ugly!” A familiar voice shouts, and Izuku blinks. He sees Shinsou and Kaminari climbing up over a pile of rubble. Shinsou has a scowl on his face, his lips pressed together as he waits to hear if Gang Orca will respond.

Gang Orca laughs, turning to face them. He stares at the pair of students, and Izuku realizes that he’s not going to reply to Shinsou. Izuku grits his teeth, taking a step forward, but Kaminari meets his eyes and gives Izuku a tiny shake of the head. Izuku pauses, waiting, and then he sees it.

A long, pink tongue appears, seemingly out of nowhere, wrapping around Gang Orca and pinning his arms to his sides. As it wraps around him, glistening in the sun, Izuku sees Tsuyu materialize into view where she’s crouched on all fours on the same pile of rubble that Shinsou and Kaminari are standing on top of.

“I’ve got him, ribbit,” Tsuyu says, around a mouthful of her own tongue. Izuku blinks at her, watching as triumphant smiles spread over Shinsou and Kaminari’s faces.

“Tsuyu, you were invisible,” Izuku breathes, blinking at her as her gaze shifts to look at him. “How...?”

“It’s just camouflage, ribbit,” she says, wearing a smile around her tongue. “It’s my super move.” Izuku nods, blinking. Kaminari and Shinsou climb down from their perch on the rocks, and Shinsou jogs up to where Izuku is standing, shaky and weak on his legs.

“Are you injured?” Shinsou asks, looking over Izuku quickly, then frowning, taking a step around to look at Izuku’s back. “You’re burned,” he says, something low in this voice. Izuku is too shaky to turn, too weak to try and hide his injuries from Shinsou. He hates the way that Gang Orca’s blast has taken the movement from his legs, the way it makes him so useless. 

“I-It’s not that bad,” Izuku says, stammering. He hears Shinsou hum. 

“Did you get hit with Gang Orca’s quirk?” Shinsou asks, and Izuku nods quickly. 

“Y-Yeah, but not a direct hit,” he says. “Todoroki and Yoarashi were hit directly. You should check on them,” Izuku explains, and he hears Shinsou grunt in agreement from behind him. 

“Hey, you two,” Kaminari says, and Izuku looks up to see him supporting Shindou with an arm around the other boy’s shoulders. “We should get Todoroki, Yoarashi, and Shindou to the first aid station,” Kaminari says, his gaze then shifting to Izuku. “Midoriya, you too, probably.” 

Izuku swallows. “I-I’m okay, really!” he shouts back. Kaminari opens his mouth, and it looks like he’s about to argue, but the speakers suddenly crackle to life. 

“All of the victims have been rescued at this time,” Yokumiru’s voice says, droning and even. “This concludes the examination. If you’re injured, please make your way to the medical area at the south end of the stadium. If you aren’t please change back into your regular clothes and wait. I’ll announce the results as soon as they’re tallied.” Izuku blinks. He’s not sure if it’s relief or regret that washes over him as he realizes that the exam is finished, but whatever it is, it knocks out the strength in his legs as it comes. Izuku starts to collapse, reaching out with his hands to catch himself, when he feels two strong, warm arms catch him.

“Okay, huh?” Shinsou’s voice says close behind Izuku as he hauls Izuku up, pulling one of Izuku’s arms over his shoulders. “Yeah, right.” He wraps an arm around Izuku’s chest to hold him up, and Izuku feels himself flushing in embarrassment as he has to lean on Shinsou for support.

“I-It’s already over,” he says, quietly, and he hears Shinsou hum beside him.

“It is, yeah,” Shinsou says. “Now we just have to hope we passed.”

\--

Izuku walks out of the medical tent, grimacing as the afternoon sunlight hits his eyes. Todoroki follows close beside him, a bandage wrapped around his upper arm where a piece of concrete or something must have sliced the skin. The cut on Izuku’s chest has been cleaned up and stitched up neatly, pieces of gauze taped over the injury. Izuku’s back has been cleaned up, and even without a bandage, it doesn’t hurt too badly now that it’s been dressed with a burn cream and he’s wearing a loose sweatshirt instead of his fitted costume. He’s feeling a lot better, too, after the Commission’s medical team had made him take a shower. He’s just glad that he managed to convince them his legs were steady enough for him to change and shower on his own.

Todoroki is similarly cleaned up, dressed in a long sleeved sweatshirt and shorts identical to the ones they’d given Izuku. He keeps looking over at Izuku, though, his eyes darting to the sides and scanning Izuku.

“Todoroki,” Izuku says, softly, and Todoroki’s gaze meets his eyes. “Are you... okay?” Todoroki blinks.

“I’m fine,” Todoroki says, with a soft sigh. “I’m... I’m sorry about what happened, during the exam. I hurt you.” His gaze moves to the side, like he’s looking at Izuku’s back. “I burned you.” 

Izuku swallows. “Todoroki, when I was shouting that at you, I--” Izuku starts, but Todoroki shakes his head. 

“You were right, though, even if you just said it to get us to focus.” Todoroki says. “I wanted to apologize, but also to thank you.” Izuku blinks, watching as Todoroki looks down at the ground. “You stopped me from becoming the type of person that I hate.” 

“Oh,” Izuku says. “Todoroki, you...” Izuku swallows. “You wouldn’t be like him, not even if I hadn’t stopped you.” He watches as Todoroki stares back at him, mismatched eyes slightly widened. Izuku gives him a shaky smile, which after a moment, he returns. Above them, the speakers crackle to life. 

“The results have been finalized,” Yokumiru’s voice says, tired. “You will be able to view the results on any screen in the building.” The speaker crackles with feedback. “Thank you.” It shuts off. 

Izuku blinks, turning to Todoroki. “I-I guess we should...?” Izuku trails off as Todoroki nods. They start walking forward, then, moving through the hallway that connects the main part of the building and the medical area that Izuku had been treated in. The hallway buzzes with conversation, sounds of talking that gets louder and louder as Izuku and Todoroki approach a large television screen that’s attached to the wall, like the kind Izuku has seen in airports. Izuku takes a few steps forward, his eyes glued to the screen as names and scores populate it.

Izuku watches as names appear, starting with the most points. Tsuyu is close to the top of the list, as is Yaoyorozu, not that that surprises Izuku. He keeps watching the screen, silently celebrating as more of his friend’s names appear. He watches as Uraraka, Kirishima, Iida, Kaminari, and Shinsou’s names all pop up. He watches as names he doesn’t recognize appear. He waits, his fists squeezed tight together, as names keep appearing, in the low fifties in points. 

A red bar appears on screen, and below it, more names appear. Kacchan’s, and Todoroki’s. Yoarashi, too, has failed. Izuku swallows. He waits. Names stop appearing after a certain point. The lowest score on the board is six points, but Izuku’s name isn’t on the board at all. 

“Midoriya,” Todoroki says, quietly. “I didn’t see your name.” Izuku swallows. 

“I-I--” He takes a breath. “I-It’s not on there.” Izuku tries to take another breath, but it stutters in his throat. He bites down on his lip, his teeth sinking into the cut he’d made on it earlier, with his razor teeth. He tastes iron, sharp and familiar. He feels tightness in his chest. Of course he isn’t on there. What was he  _ thinking _ ? There was never any chance at all.

“Midoriya?” Todoroki asks, his voice hesitant. “Are you okay?” Izuku looks at him, but his vision is blurring. Izuku nods, shaky.

“I-I’m fine,” he says, and his voice sounds foreign to his ears. “I just need to go use the bathroom,” he says, quietly, and he turns and starts to walk to the bathroom that he’d killed himself in before. His head hurts, and it feels like his throat is collapsing in on itself.  _ Don’t cry, _ he tells himself.  _ Don’t cry. _

“Midoriya, wait,” Todoroki says, and Izuku flinches when a warm hand comes to rest on his shoulder. Izuku stops. They’re just a little way down the hallway, far enough from the screen that the voices are a touch quieter, but it’s not private in the slightest. It’s not close enough to the bathroom for Izuku to be able to throw Todoroki off of himself and run, not close enough for Izuku to be able to get away to reset.

“W-What,” Izuku says, squeezing his eyes shut and feeling tears start to run down his cheeks. “What, T-Todoroki?”

“I’m worried about you,” Todoroki says, his voice clear and concerned. “You’re upset.” Izuku hiccups around a laugh, reaching up one hand to wipe tears away from the undersides of his eyes.

“O-Of course I’m upset,” he says, his voice wet. “I-I just failed so badly they d-didn’t even put my name on the board.” Izuku’s heart stutters painfully in his chest as he says it.  _ I failed _ . He bites down on his lip again, not resisting as Todoroki spins him around so that they’re facing each other.

“It’s okay, Midoriya,” Todoroki says, voice firm. “We’ll get another chance.” Izuku opens his eyes, sees fear and worry and something else on Todoroki’s scarred face.

“Y-You might, maybe,” Izuku says, looking to the side, at the place where the wall and the floor meet. There’s dust gathered there. “But they d-didn’t even want someone like me--they didn’t want a quirkless person to take the exam at all,” he says, smiling bitterly. He licks his bottom lip, tasting salty blood. “I-I just want to be alone,” he says, even though that’s not what he wants at all, even though what he really wants right now is for Todoroki to pull him into a hug and rub his back and tell him that it’s going to be okay. That he doesn’t have to die.

“I--” Todoroki starts, and Izuku looks back at him in time to see him take a slow breath. “What are you going to do, once you’re alone?” Todoroki asks, and Izuku feels his eyes widen. “Are you going to hurt yourself?” Todoroki meets Izuku’s eyes, and Izuku suddenly, viscerally remembers, that Todoroki has held him as he died before. That Todoroki  _ remembers,  _ even if it’s just in bits and pieces. 

“N-No, I--” Izuku starts, but he stops when his voice cracks. Izuku swallows, fresh tears filling his eyes. He sees Todoroki’s brows furrow, even through the blur of water in his eyes, and Izuku thinks that Todoroki might be about to say something when Aizawa’s voice reaches Izuku’s ears.

“Midoriya,” Aizawa says, and Izuku blinks, turning to the side to see his teacher approaching with Yokumiru at his side. “Are you okay?” His brow is furrowed slightly as he stops in front of Izuku, reaching a hand down to tug Izuku’s chin up. Izuku blinks, surprised, but then he remembers that his lip is bleeding. He licks the blood away, not moving when Aizawa pulls his hand back, straightening up.

“Todoroki, you’re dismissed,” Yokumiru says, and when Izuku looks at him, he seems bored. “Eraserhead and I need to speak with Midoriya alone.” His gaze is sharp when it passes over Izuku’s face, and Izuku doesn’t like the feeling. It reminds him of Fury in how it’s full of something that might be disdain or might be interest. 

“Sensei, I--” Todoroki starts, but Izuku cuts him off by reaching a hand up to Todoroki’s where it still rests on his shoulder, squeezing his friend’s hand gently.

“It’s okay, Todoroki,” Izuku says. His voice is still wobbly, but Izuku knows how to suck it up and look okay in front of adults by this point. He’ll listen to whatever this is, and then he’ll slit his own throat in the bathroom.  _ It’ll be okay. _

Todoroki hesitates for a moment, then he pulls his hand away from Izuku’s shoulder and starts to back up. Izuku doesn’t miss the way Todoroki keeps casting glances back over his shoulder as he goes, though, like he’s checking to make sure that Aizawa and Yokumiru haven’t suddenly decided to attack Izuku. 

“Midoriya,” Aizawa says, sighing. “I’m sorry that nobody told you this  _ before _ the results were posted,” he glances over at Yokumiru, anger flashing in his dark eyes, “but your results are being individually by the Commission.” Aizawa looks back to Izuku.

“S-So my name not being on the board wasn’t b-because I wasn’t allowed to pass?” Izuku asks, sucking on his bottom lip, pulling the blood from it. Aizawa nods, then looks at Yokumiru.

“Yes, well, because we don't actually know what your quirk  _ is _ , and because points are normally deducted for improper quirk usage which obviously wouldn’t happen in your case,” Yokumiru pauses, yawning. “We had to set a different standard for you. In order for someone like you to pass, the Commission determined you would have to end the competition with 75 points or more.” Izuku blinks, swallowing.  _ Someone like me, huh,  _ he thinks quietly to himself. 

“We set the board to not put your score up, since if you scored between 75 and 50, you’d be in the passing range on the board but your name would be marked in red,” Yokumiru explains, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Frankly, I think we all anticipated you getting below fifty points anyway.” Izuku sees Aizawa stiffen beside Yokumiru, his eyes narrowing.

“W-What did I get?” Izuku asks. The way Yokumiru worded it implied that he’d gotten over fifty, at least.

“Well, Midoriya,” Yokumiru says, sighing. “You got seventy-five points exactly.” Izuku blinks. “I guess I should say congratulations,” Yokumiru continues. “You’re the first quirkless person to have a provisional license.”

Izuku stares at him, his mouth open slightly. Beside Yokumiru, he sees Aizawa’s face soften slightly, something that might be pride on his teacher’s features. Izuku just feels stunned, like he has emotional whiplash. He blinks, swallowing as Yokumiru sighs, turning.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Yokumiru says, shuffling away. Izuku doesn’t watch him go, not for more than a few moments. He takes a deep breath, feeling warmth as Aizawa moves closer to him.

“You doing okay, kid?” Aizawa asks, quietly. He stands next to Izuku, close enough that Izuku could easily touch him if he wanted. “You were really upset a moment ago.” Izuku blinks, reaching up to wipe the leftover tears from his face.

“I-I’m okay now, sensei!” he says, looking up at Aizawa and giving him a watery smile. Aizawa watches him with his usual blank expression.

“You know that the way the Commission is treating you isn’t right,” Aizawa says. It doesn’t sound like a question, but Izuku knows Aizawa well enough to know he should answer. Izuku nods, his head bobbing shakily.

“Y-Yeah,” he says, “I know.” He sighs, looking down at the floor. “It doesn’t matter, though. I won, this time.” He smiles, and he hears Aizawa sigh beside him.

“That you did,” Aizawa says, and Izuku doesn't have to look up at his teacher to know that he’s smiling too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: i think just brief mentions of nausea
> 
> [discord!](https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt)
> 
> i hope u all enjoyed!!!


	60. start of the second term

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku completed the provisional license exam and got his license! he was very cool and epic and definitely didn't nearly pull an izuku because he thought he'd failed at first

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *drops this in ur lap like its a dead bird and im a cat* hi gamers i think this sucks but idc im too tired to fix it

Sitting in that same seat on the bus, exhausted and sore, Izuku lets himself relax. It’s warm on the bus, probably from the vehicle sitting in the sun all day while they took their exam, and the heat soaks through the faux leather seats, seeping into Izuku’s sore muscles. 

Now that the adrenaline’s faded, now that he’s finished crying and being surprised and all of that, Izuku is just sleepy. He can hear his classmates chit chatting excitedly around him, but he doesn’t quite have the energy to participate himself. Instead, he leans against the back of the seat in front of him and listens, his eyes slipping shut to block out the late afternoon sun that slants through the windows.

He can hear Uraraka and Iida, just a few seats away, talking about rescue. If they weren’t so excited, so happy, Izuku might think they were studying for class. Izuku can’t make out the exact words, too tired to process them, but he can hear the excitement in Uraraka’s voice, the enthusiasm in Iida’s. 

Further away but louder all the same, Izuku can hear Kirishima and Kaminari making fun of Kacchan for failing, and the responding shouts and growls from Kacchan. Izuku’s surprised that there aren’t any explosions, but, well, he supposes even Kacchan would have to hold those in on a bus. Izuku wonders, vaguely, if Kacchan would be willing to talk to Izuku if Izuku had failed, too. Izuku’s glad, at least, that Kacchan’s friends still hang out with him; Kaminari had been so friendly during the exam, after all.  _ Kacchan must not have told them that I’m a traitor _ , he thinks sleepily. 

Izuku can hear the rumbling of the bus itself, the vibrations of the tires as they move over the road. The sensation is more tactile than it is auditory; Izuku feels it through the seat underneath his thighs, through the window he’s pressed his left side into. He can feel it through his forehead, where it’s leaned against the seat in front of him. 

And then, he hears a soft voice, from the seat in front of him. It’s where Todoroki is sitting, where he’s been quietly staring out the window since the bus ride started. 

“Do you think we should wake him?” Todoroki asks, voice barely above a whisper. He’s so close to Izuku’s head, though, that even as sleepy as he is, Izuku can hear him clearly.

“I don’t know,” Shinsou’s voice, quieter across the aisle, says. “He woke me up on the way here, which I was glad for, so maybe we should,” he continues. Izuku blinks his eyes open, pulling himself away from the seat in front of him.

“‘M awake,” he mumbles, yawning. “Just tired.” He blinks blearily at Todoroki, who’s barely an inch from his face. Todoroki swallows, and Izuku can see his throat moving. Strangely, there’s a slightly flush on Todoroki’s face. 

“Oh, good,” Shinsou says. “That saves us the trouble.” Izuku doesn’t look at him, instead squinting at Todoroki.

“Did you get a sunburn?” Izuku asks, frowning and blinking sleep from his eyes. “You’re a little red.” Todoroki blinks, pulling back and turning to look out the window. Maybe it’s the orange-red light of the sunset, but Izuku thinks the redness might grow a little deeper.

“No, this is--” Todoroki clears his throat. “It’s not a sunburn. I’m fine,” he says, something strained about his voice. Izuku blinks, and he hears Shinsou snort. He glances over to see Shinsou watching Izuku, and when Izuku looks over at him, Shinsou raises an eyebrow at him, as if to ask what he’s looking at. 

“You’re gonna be in our class next term,” Izuku says, his eyes opening more as he puts it together. “Right? That’s what the deal was if you passed the exam.” He looks on as Shinsou nods, a smile on his lips that looks suspiciously genuine.

“Yeah,” Shinsou says, looking down at his lap. “I’m going to be in your class,” he says, quietly, like he doesn’t quite believe it himself. Izuku smiles back at him.

“Good,” he says. “You deserve it.” Shinsou looks back up at him, blinking for a moment before his own smile widens. 

\--

When he hears the knock on his door, Izuku has just finished changing. His hair is damp and clean from showering, and he’s wearing clean sweats and a long sleeved shirt. The knock is firm and insistent, and just a second later, whoever it is knocks again, even more loudly.

“Coming,” Izuku murmurs, moving to the door and turning the lock. It clicks, and Izuku pulls open the door. His eyes feel heavy with sleep, his bones steeped with exhaustion, but that doesn’t stop him from startling when he finds himself staring into Kacchan’s crimson red eyes.

“K-Kacchan?” Izuku asks, blinking. Kacchan’s scowl deepens as he crosses his arms over his chest. He’s wearing a tank top and shorts--casual clothes, different from the ones he’d worn on the bus. 

“I need to talk to you,” Kacchan says, his voice rough and low. Izuku blinks.

“S-Sure,” he says, opening his door further. He falters when Kacchan’s eyes narrow, his hands clenching at his arms where they’re crossed.

“I meant outside,” Kacchan says, his voice a low growl. Izuku swallows.

“O-Okay,” Izuku says, stepping forward and pulling his door shut behind him. “Let me lock it, first,” he says, turning and sliding his key into the lock. He hears Kacchan click his tongue. Izuku’s heart pounds in his chest, too fast and too hard, but he knows that he’s not going to feel any better until this is over. He’s been waiting for this for so long now, waiting for Kacchan to finally, finally agree to talk to him again. He’s not going to mess this up by showing Kacchan just how weak he is. 

“Hurry the fuck up,” Kacchan says when Izuku pulls the key from the lock. Izuku nods, quickly, hurrying after Kacchan as he turns and stomps down the hallway. Izuku twists his hands in front of him as he walks behind Kacchan. When they step onto the stairs, it’s quiet, even though the common room is usually loud this time of night.  _ Everyone must be resting after the exam _ , Izuku thinks. All he can hear is the sounds of his and Kacchan’s footsteps and the whir of the air conditioning. 

Kacchan leads him through the common area, out the front door. It’s a cool, pleasant night, with a soft breeze that brushes over his skin, rippling the fabric of his shirt against his skin. Kacchan doesn’t stop, though, even as Izuku tugs the door to the dorm shut behind them and jogs down the steps to catch up to him. 

“K-Kacchan, where are we going?” Izuku asks, staring at the back of Kacchan’s head. His ash blonde hair is fluffy like it is when he’s been washed but when he hasn’t put any gel in it, like it was all through elementary school. It makes Izuku feel nostalgic.

“Gym Beta,” Kacchan grunts in response, his voice low and irritated. Izuku nods, hesitantly, even though Kacchan surely can’t see him. 

It only takes them a few minutes to cross campus like that, walking with Kacchan just in front of him. The air tastes damp, like it might rain, and when Izuku tips his head back, he can see dark grey clouds streaking over the sky, blocking the clouds. 

Kacchan stops abruptly outside of Gym Beta. Izuku nealy runs into him, stopping himself at the last minute with a sharp inhale. Kacchan’s shoulders are tense, his muscles twitching with tension, and Izuku holds back the urge to ask if Kacchan is alright. He knows it wouldn’t be appreciated. Instead, Izuku stands there, waiting patiently with his hands at his sides, as Kacchan turns to face him. Izuku takes a step back so they’re about three feet apart, instead of barely touching, and he sees Kacchan’s eyes narrow at the movement.

“Deku,” Kacchan says, but there’s no heat to his voice. Izuku swallows, waits, but it seems that nothing else is coming.

“K-Kacchan?” Izuku bites at his lower lip. “What d-did you want to talk to me about?” Kacchan takes a breath, blowing air out his nose and shutting his eyes from just a moment, before looking back at Izuku, his gaze unwavering.

“Hit me,” Kacchan says, and even though he says it so clearly, Izuku still wonders if he heard it right. Izuku feels his brows furrow.

“W-What?” he asks, swallowing. Kacchan presses his lips together, grits his teeth. 

“I said,” Kacchan starts, his voice a growl. “Fucking hit me, Deku.” 

“I-I--” Izuku shakes his head, takes a step back. “I don’t want to hit you,” Izuku says. Kacchan’s eyes narrow, his lip curling at the edge. A breeze passes over them, ruffling Kacchan’s hair, moving the shadows in the pale blonde strands.

“Yeah, well I fucking deserve it,” Kacchan snarls, and Izuku feels, suddenly, like he’s missed something. He watches Kacchan bite his lip, his crimson eyes turning to the side, and Izuku realizes that his friend is shaking. 

“Kacchan, what happened?” Izuku asks, taking a step forward and extending a hand. “Are you okay?” He goes to put his hand on Kacchan’s shoulder, to comfort him, but Kacchan slaps Izuku’s hand away. The sound it makes isn’t loud, but it echoes through the space anyways. Izuku stares at Kacchan, his eyes widening as he sees tears starting to well up in his friend’s eyes. 

“Don’t fucking ask me that!” Kacchan shouts, his voice loud and unsteady. “Stop fucking worrying about me!” He takes a step back, his arms uncrossing and his hands swinging down at his sides. His palms are sparking in tiny little golden bursts, the kind that Izuku knows happens when Kacchan is so sweaty that he can’t help it. 

“K-Kacchan, I’m s--” Izuku starts, but Kacchan cuts him off, shaking his head.

“No! Don’t  _ you _ fucking apologize to  _ me _ , damn it!” Kacchan shouts, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m the one who--who--” Kacchan shakes his head, his voice choked and heavy. “I-I’m the one who fucking hurt you,” Kacchan finishes, opening his eyes and staring at Izuku. Izuku stares back, shakes his head.

“No, Kacchan, what--” Izuku swallows. “Y-You already apologized for that, r-remember?” Izuku takes a step forward, but Kacchan just moves back in turn. 

“It’s not enough,” Kacchan bites out. “You know damn well that it isn’t,” he says, reaching up to clutch at the front of his shirt. “I hurt you when we were kids, and then you got kidnapped because my stupid ass wasn’t strong enough, and then fucking  _ All Might  _ had to retire because of me,” Kacchan spits out, talking like there’s pressure forcing the words out of him too fast. “You fucking--nobody knows what happened to you, in there, you know that?” Kacchan says, shaking his head. His hands spark around the fabric of his tank top. “You can’t even  _ talk _ about it.” He looks up at Izuku, meets his eyes. “And I fucking did that. It’s my goddamn fault,” Kacchan chokes out. 

Izuku blinks. “K-Kacchan, I...” Izuku trails off, expecting Kacchan to say something else, but his friend is just staring back at him, eyes wide and wet. Izuku can feel tears starting to well up in his own eyes, hot and sharp, but he doesn’t want them to fall. He knows Kacchan will think they’re his fault. It seems so  _ stupid _ now, that Izuku thought Kacchan thought he was a traitor. 

“I hurt you,” Kacchan says, his voice barely more than a squeak. Izuku shakes his head.

“What they--what happened to me, what they--” Izuku pauses, clenching his jaw shut and staring at Kacchan’s hands, twisted in his shirt. “What happened, it’s not your fault,” he says, hearing his own voice crack. “I-It’s not. It’s  _ their _ fault.”

“Who’s they, Deku?” Kacchan asks, fire burning in his eyes. “What happened to you because of my fucking--”

“Shut up,” Izuku interrupts, and he’s just as surprised as Kacchan looks to hear the words. “I-I don’t want to--I don’t want to hear you say it’s your fault, that you were weak or that you messed up, Kacchan,” Izuku says. “I don’t want any of that. I-I wanted you to  _ talk _ to me,” Izuku says, taking a step forward, towards Kacchan. “I thought you hated me,” he adds, voice small. Kacchan flinches back, like he’s been hit.

“What--Deku, you should hate  _ me _ ,” Kacchan says, his brows furrowing and his mouth open slightly for a moment before he swallows, his throat bobbing with the motion. “I’ve put you through so much pain for  _ so _ fucking long,” he says, stepping forward. “You--you shouldn’t have to fucking  _ be _ around me. I don’t deserve to be around  _ you _ .” Kacchan’s breath is coming quick, desperate, and when Izuku takes another step forward, he can feel it on his face. Kacchan’s breath is minty, like always, when Izuku stares him down.

“Well, I  _ want _ to be around you,” Izuku says, and Kacchan starts to interrupt, starts to shake his head, but Izuku doesn’t let him speak. “It should be my decision, right?” Izuku says, hearing tears in his own voice. “Kacchan, I’ve wanted you to be my friend, my  _ real _ friend for so long, do you think I’d push you away when you finally  _ stopped _ trying to hurt me?” Izuku’s voice cracks, and suddenly he’s sobbing, too. They’re both crying, fat tears rolling down their faces. 

“How do you--” Kacchan raises an arm, scrubbing at his face. “How do you fucking do it, Deku?” He takes in a shaky, uneven breath. “How the fuck are you so good? If someone did that shit to me, I wouldn’t--I wouldn’t be able to just--” Kacchan stops, wrapping his arms around himself. Izuku can’t bear it; he reaches an arm out, sets it on Kacchan’s shoulder. Kacchan flinches, hard, but Izuku doesn’t stop, pulling Kacchan into a tight hug.

“I-I don’t know, Kacchan,” Izuku says, into Kacchan’s shoulder. “I don’t know.” He feels Kacchan’s fingers twisting in the fabric of Izuku’s shirt, scrabbling for purchase as Kacchan sobs into Izuku’s shoulder.

“I-I don’t deserve this,” Kacchan says, so quietly that Izuku doesn’t know if he was meant to hear.

“Deserve what?” Izuku asks, just as quiet. Kacchan breathes into Izuku’s shirt, his breath warm and damp.

“You,” Kacchan says, simply. “I don’t deserve any more fucking chances to be your friend.” Izuku wraps his arms around him tighter.

“You being kidnapped,” Izuku starts, swallowing. “Us, getting kidnapped. That wasn’t--you didn’t do anything wrong,” Izuku says. “That--I don’t need to give you another chance, for that.” The words feel strange. Izuku wonders if he’s dreaming. Kacchan’s breathing has slowed, no longer frantic with tears. Izuku’s crying, still, but not in the painful, awful way. His face is cold where the tears on his cheeks are starting to dry. 

“I still think you deserve a punch or two,” Kacchan says, and Izuku blinks, startled. “God knows I’ve hit you enough times. You’ve more than fucking earned the right to hit me.” Izuku pulls away from Kacchan, moving his hands to Kacchan’s biceps. Kacchan looks up at him, something between a grimace and a smile on his face, his tears drying but his eyes still rimmed in red. 

“Kacchan, I don’t want to hit you,” Izuku says, and Kacchan snorts. “What?” Izuku asks, frowning. “Why do you want me to hit you so badly?”

“I already fucking explained that to you, Deku,” Kacchan replies, but there’s nothing mean in his voice. He uncurls his hands from Izuku’s shirt, one dropping to the side and the other reaching up, hesitantly. Izuku stands, frozen still as Kacchan reaches up and wipes tears off of Izuku’s left cheekbone with a rough, warm thumb. 

“W-What if it wouldn’t make me feel better? What if that would make me feel worse?” Izuku asks, swallowing as Kacchan’s hand lingers for a moment, before he drops it down to his side. Izuku releases Kacchan’s shoulders, then, and they’re just standing, facing each other.

“I don’t want to fucking hurt you, that’s for sure,” Kacchan says, his lips a thin line. “So I guess you shouldn’t.” Izuku nods, shaky.

“O-Okay,” Izuku says. There’s something tight in his throat, something he wants to say but can’t figure out. It’s like his body is telling him to spill, to say everything and finally, finally have someone who knows  _ everything _ , but Izuku knows he can’t. Not with everything at stake.

“What  _ do _ you want?” Kacchan asks, his voice quiet, calm. Izuku blinks, looking back into Kacchan’s eyes. 

“I want us to be friends,” Izuku says, firmly. This, he knows for sure. “Real friends.” Kacchan stares back at him.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll warn you, though,” he says, his lips quirking up into a smirk. “If I’m gonna be your friend, I’m gonna be the best damn friend anyone’s ever had.” Izuku smiles, too, as he keeps talking. “I don’t do fucking anything halfway,” Kacchan says, something bright gleaming in his eyes. 

Izuku grins back at him. “I know you don’t,” he says, staring back at his friend. 

\--

Izuku grins and waves when he sees Shinsou, purple hair bright in the sunlight, walking up the steps to 1-A’s dorm building. Izuku’s been waiting by the door even since Shinsou texted him and said that he was almost there. Shinsou’s in casual clothes, a long sleeved black shirt and a pair of tight jeans, with his backpack thrown over one shoulder. Behind him, he’s tugging a battered brown suitcase, scratches covering the plastic surface. Izuku hurries down the steps, a smile on his face as he approaches his friend.

“Hey, Shinsou!” Izuku says, stopping a few steps in front of Shinsou. Shinsou glances up at him, his face flat. 

“Hi.” Shinsou replies, then yawns, covering his mouth with the hand that isn’t tugging the suitcase. Izuku chuckles.

“Stayed up late last night?” Izuku asks, earning him a glare from Shinsou as they start to walk up the steps.

“We’re high schoolers,” Shinsou deadpans. “We always stay up late.” Izuku nods, hopping up a few more steps.

“Is that all you have?” Izuku asks, gesturing to the suitcase. “You know you’re moving in full time, right?” He knows that Shinsou knows that, but Izuku’s honestly kind of hoping that Shinsou has more bags, has more stuff. Izuku doesn’t want to think about how very little Shinsou must own, if this is really his only bag. 

“This is it,” Shinsou says, his lips turning down in a slight scowl as he glances down at his suitcase, hauling it up the last step before the door. “I don’t have much.” 

Izuku nods, moving in front of him and tugging the door open. He holds it, not speaking, as Shinsou rolls his suitcase into the building. Izuku can see Shinsou’s face twitch, his eyes widening as he glances around. 

“Huh,” Shinsou says, clicking his tongue as he stops a few meters into the common room. “They really went all out when they built this.”

Izuku nods. “They really did!” he agrees. He lets the door fall shut behind him as he walks into the room. He can’t help but put a little bounce into his step, smiling and waving at Kirishima and Kacchan in the kitchen.

“Mindfuck’s finally moving in?” Kacchan asks, raising an eyebrow. Kirishima nudges him and murmurs something into his ear that Izuku can’t hear.

“Yup!” Izuku answers. He can see Shinsou squinting at Kacchan, like he’s deciding if he should pick a fight or not. “Let me know you where your room is,” Izuku says to Shinsou, hoping to avoid an argument. 

Shinsou nods, and Izuku starts towards the elevator. He’d normally take the stairs, but he doesn’t want to make Shinsou have to carry his things up. Izuku swallows down the panic that threatens to rise in his throat as he presses the button to call the elevator. The doors, painted brown instead of being smooth silver like the ones at the Gekkeiju base, open immediately. Izuku steels himself before he steps inside, holding out one arm to keep the doors open for Shinsou. Shinsou walks in, giving Izuku a quick nod, and Izuku pulls his hand back. He presses the button for the second floor, watching the way his hand shakes hard as he does.

“You’re claustrophobic?” Shinsou asks, and when Izuku looks up at him quickly, his eyes are slightly narrowed, watching the tremble in Izuku’s hands. Izuku swallows, tucking his hands into his pockets.

“I-I just don’t like elevators,” Izuku says, swallowing the lump in his throat. Shinsou nods, grunting in acknowledgement as he looks at the elevator doors again. 

Thankfully, only a minute passes before the elevator is beeping, and the doors are sliding open to reveal the far end of the second floor hallway. Izuku lets Shinsou step off of the elevator first, watches as Shinsou’s head turns left and right as he examines the space. Izuku steps off the elevator, sighing in something that might be relief as he places his feet on familiar ground. 

“Your room is the closest to the stairs,” Izuku says, walking forward to lead Shinsou through the hallway. “It’s, um, right now to mine, so if you need anything, you can always come knock on my door,” Izuku continues. “M-Mineta used to live there, so I guess they wanted the same rooms to be occupied even if there was a different student. There are other empty rooms, but I’m kind of glad you’re next door to me. It was kind of weird having an empty room next to mine, you know?” Izuku babbles on, stopping in front of Shinsou’s new door and gesturing to it with one hand.

“You’re rambling,” Shinsou says, slipping a hand into his pocket and fishing out a small key, identical to the one Izuku keeps on his keyring.

“S-Sorry,” Izuku says, chewing at the scab on his bottom lip as Shinsou turns the key in the lock and pushes the door open.

“Huh,” Shinsou says, his eyes widening slightly. “It’s nicer than I expected.”

Izuku blinks, nodding. “Y-Yeah, they’re pretty awesome,” he says, following after Shinsou as he walks into the dorm room. It’s the same as Izuku’s was, before he’d moved his stuff in. Shinsou stops in front of the bed, sighing and letting go of his suitcase. He slips his backpack off of his shoulder, setting it on the bare mattress.

“I can unpack on my own,” Shinsou says, his eyes sliding to the side to look at Izuku. Izuku blinks. 

“E-Even if you  _ can _ ,” Izuku says, tipping his head to the side. “Do you want to? Unpack on your own, I mean.” Shinsou stares back at him.

“I think...” Shinsou turns, glancing at the glass sliding door to the balcony. “I think some company would be nice,” he says, voice quiet. Izuku nods. 

“Okay!” Izuku says, smiling. Shinsou looks back at him, offering a tiny smile of his own. 

“You can just sit in the chair,” Shinsou says, gesturing to it. “I don’t have much, so this shouldn’t take long.” Izuku nods, taking a seat. He watches Shinsou sigh, raising his arms above his head and stretching, eyes shutting for just a moment, before he turns to the bed. His body blocks Izuku’s view, but Izuku can hear the sound of a zipper opening, and after a moment, Shinsou is pulling out a battered black laptop and an equally battered charger.

“Do you have stuff for your bed?” Izuku asks, leaning on the chair. Shinsou looks up at him, frowning.

“Uh, no,” Shinsou says, glancing to the side. “I didn’t really think about it.” Izuku nods.

“We can go shopping tomorrow after training, if you want?” Izuku asks. “We don’t have any classes or anything until the second semester starts, so we have time. I can let you borrow my extra set of sheets until then, and I think Uraraka has extra blankets,” Izuku says. Shinsou looks at him, frowning.

“I can manage on my own,” Shinsou says sharply. He sets the laptop down on the bare mattress, then reaches into his backpack and pulls out a large plastic bag with a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a bar of soap inside. Shinsou sets it down on the bed as well. 

“T-The baths are downstairs, but there are toilets at the end of every hall,” Izuku says, swallowing. Shinsou grunts in acknowledgement. Izuku watches as Shinsou zips his backpack up, then moves to the suitcase, grabbing it and pulling it up onto the bed. He unzips it and opens it up, revealing a mess of different colored fabrics inside. Izuku watches Shinsou take out a stack of what looks like shirts, walking over to his new dresser and opening the second drawer. He sets them inside.

“Shinsou, do you...” Izuku takes a breath. “Is there anything you need, but didn’t bring with you?” He can see, as Shinsou unpacks his suitcase, that the boy doesn’t have many clothes, not at all. Some of the suitcase is taken up by what appears to be laundry detergent, too, and Shinsou seems to not have any shoes with him other than the ones on his feet, which are battered and stained in places with mud and grime. Shinsou looks up at him, something guarded in his gaze.

“I’m fine, okay? You can leave if all you’re going to do is ask stupid questions,” Shinsou snaps, and Izuku swallows, feeling his lips tug into a frown. 

“Sorry,” Izuku says, softly. Shinsou looks away from him, continuing to unload the rest of his stuff. Izuku watches, quietly. 

He doesn’t ask any more questions about it, not even when it becomes clear that Shinsou has hardly  _ anything _ , but it weighs heavily on his mind, even when he leaves Shinsou’s room to go to his own. He thinks about it before going to sleep that night.  _ What’s going on?  _ Izuku remembers seeing Shinsou as Ace, remembers seeing the boy outside, alone and hurt, on his birthday. Izuku wonders what part of Shinsou he doesn’t see, at training and at school. He hopes it’s not any of the many terrible things he’s started to think it could be. 

\--

The opening ceremony is long and boring, but afterward, Izuku is feeling strangely rejuvenated. It’s especially odd, given that Nezu spent most of the ceremony talking about security and the increased threat that heroes in general are under, lately, but Izuku supposes he’s just excited for the start of the second semester. Being at UA at  _ all _ still feels too good to be true, but the fact that he’s already finished his first term is something that makes Izuku’s heart soar and his lips turn up. It doesn’t hurt that Shinsou’s next to him, and Shinsou’s been buzzing with barely-hidden excitement the entire ceremony. It’s the same one that the general studies students attend, but Izuku supposes that Shinsou must just be excited to be in the hero program’s section.

Izuku’s smile doesn’t fade when he sees Neito approaching him, his hands tucked into the pants pockets of his uniform. He’s got a lazy smirk on his face, blue eyes half narrowed as he walks up to Izuku. Next to him, Kendou has a wary look on her face. She glances between Neito and Izuku, like she’s trying to figure them out.

“Hey, Izuku,” Neito says, stopping and leaning on one leg. “Ready for the next semester?” Izuku nods, grinning brightly.

“Y-Yeah!” Izuku says. He can feel Shinsou giving him a strange look from beside him, but Izuku ignores it.

“Wait, you two are on a first name basis?” Kendou asks, blinking and folding her arms over her chest. “When did that happen?” Izuku blinks, glancing to Neito. He doesn’t know Kendou well enough to answer her himself.

“When we both agreed to it, of course,” Neito says, shrugging. Kendou scowls next to him, her blue eyes narrowing. 

“Yeah, okay,” she says, her gaze turning to Izuku. “Do you mind telling me what exactly happened at the training camp? The only thing Monoma will tell me is that you two ‘bonded,’” she says, making air quotes, “and now you two are best buddies?”

“They’re probably fucking,” Shinsou deadpans from beside Izuku, and Izuku blinks, spluttering as his face turns bright red. Neito just blink, then tips his head back, cackling and folding his arms over his stomach.

“Oh, that’s a good one,” Neito says, miming wiping a tear away from one eye. He looks at Izuku, a grin on his face. “We just had a very touching, bonding moment fighting a villain together. Isn’t that right, Izuku?”

Izuk nods, hesitantly. “Y-Yeah,” he says, his face still red. “W-We bonded. Over a completely ordinary fight with a villain.”

“Our quirks work well together,” Neito says, shrugging, and Izuku thinks he might actually have a heart attack from this conversation. Next to him, Kendou squints at Neito.

“He doesn’t  _ have _ one,” she points out. “And you copy quirks. How exactly does that work well together?” Kendou taps her foot against the concrete ground.

Neito shrugs. “Sounds like a perfect match to me,” he says, flipping his hair out of his face. “I’ve heard that our classes will be going against each other at some point this semester,” he says, ignoring the way Kendou frowns at the change in subject. “I should probably warn you that I’m going to smash you inferior 1-A insects into the ground,” he says, an evil smile growing on his face. Izuku grins, nodding.

“I won’t hold back either, you know,” Izuku says, and Kendou sighs, putting her face in her hands.

“You two don’t make any sense,” she says, her voice muffled by her palms. “Shinsou, is Midoriya always like this? Or has my friend corrupted him?” Shinsou snorts, raising an eyebrow. 

“I don’t know about him,” Shinsou says, waving a hand at Neito, “but Midoriya has never made any sense.” Izuku blinks, frowning.

“W-Wait, what does that mean?” Izuku asks, and Shinsou just arches an eyebrow at him. Neito snorts.

“They’re just jealous, Izuku,” Neito says, leaning in with a hand to his mouth like he’s whispering, but he talks at full volume. “They wish they knew all of our little secrets.” Izuku blinks, opening his mouth to respond, but Kendou breathes out sharply through her nose and grabs the back of Neito’s shirt.

“Okay, that’s it,” Kendou says. “You’re messing with us, Monoma. Come on, we should get back to the dorms. The others are probably waiting.” She tugs at Neito’s collar, starting to drag him away. He doesn’t really protest, just flails his arms a little and looks offended.

“Bye, Neito, Kendou!” Izuku says, waving. Neito grins and waves back at Izuku, digging his feet into the ground to make it harder on Kendou.

“Goodbye, Midoriya,” Kendou says, glancing back at him. “I’m going to figure out what on earth is going on between you two, one of these days!” she calls back at him as she keeps walking away. Izuku swallows as he watches her go, a smile still pinned to his face. He hopes she doesn’t look _ too _ deeply into he and Neito’s friendship. 

“Yeah, that whole situation is confusing as hell,” Shinsou says, voice flat. “You just make friends with every single unhinged person you come across, don’t you.” It’s phrased like a statement, not a question. Izuku feels his face heat up and he turns to Shinsou, frowning.

“I-I don’t do that! A-And my friends aren’t unhinged,” he says, watching as Shinsou slowly raises an eyebrow. 

“Bakugou, Todoroki, Monoma,” Shinsou says, ticking up fingers on his hand as he lists them, hesitating for a moment before he adds, “and me. You’ve basically collected all of the crazy people in our year, congrats.” 

Izuku squints at him. “You’re not crazy,” he says, and Shinsou sighs, rolling his eyes.

“Sure, and Aizawa doesn’t have a sleeping disorder,” Shinsou says. “Whatever. Let’s go back to the dorms, I need a nap,” Shinsou says, turning and walking back toward the dorms. Izuku blinks, hurrying to follow after Shinsou.

“Y-You consider me a friend?” he asks, hesitant and quiet. Shinsou glances back at him, arching an eyebrow.

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” Shinsou asks, his gaze moving to something far away, something beyond Izuku. “If you’re okay with that, anyway.”

“Of course!” Izuku says, a smile splitting his face. “I told you way back at the sports festival that I wanted to be friends.” Shinsou blinks at him, then turns to face forward again. Izuku can see the faintest hint of a smile on his lips, even at this angle.

“You did say that,” Shinsou says. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: none really? implied neglect it
> 
> [discord!](https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt)
> 
> i hope you enjoyed!! hopefully this didn't suck as bad as i think it does dkjfghdkfj


	61. offers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku helped shinsou move in, went to the opening ceremony, and made up with kacchan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GAMERS sorry if this one feels like filler i pinkie promise that it isn't, i needed to establish some stuff and rn we're kind of between arcs

Izuku is almost back to the dorm building when he feels a warm hand come down on his shoulder. He jumps, a little squeak of surprise escaping his lips, and he sees Shinsou give him a strange look as he turns to look behind him. Izuku relaxes a ration when he recognizes Mirio, his blue eyes shining and a smile on his face.

“Sorry if I startled you, Deku!” Mirio says, pulling his hand away. 

“I-It’s fine!” Izuku says, returning Mirio’s smile. “I just didn’t see you there.” Mirio nods, looking to the side at Shinsou, who’s eyeing Mirio with something that looks vaguely like distrust.

“Oh, I’m Mirio Toogata,” Mirio says to Shinsou, sticking out a hand for Shinsou to shake. “You can just call me Mirio, though. I’m a third year here!” Shinsou stares at Mirio’s hand, making no move to shake it.

“Shinsou,” Shinsou says, voice curt. “We were just headed back to the dorm,” he says, a clear dismissal. Izuku swallows, about to apologize for Shinsou, but Mirio just nods, his smile only slipping the tiniest bit.

“I won’t take too much of your time, then,” Mirio says, looking to Izuku. “Have you thought at all about where you’re going to do your work study?” Izuku blinks.

“I-I haven’t really considered it,” Izuku says, picking at the hem of his shirt. He’s considered it, that’s for sure. Izuku has spent more time that he would care to admit worrying about the work studies, about whether or not he’d have the time for it, with his work as Ace and the Gekkeiju and classes on top of it. He knows that mandatory therapy is coming, too, and as much as Izuku is hoping he can get away with just one or two sessions and then never going back, he knows that will take up a bit of his precious, precious time, too. 

“You should,” Mirio says, nodding. “It’s a really useful experience. I was actually going to ask, if you don’t have anyone lined up, would you be interested in doing your work study with me and my mentor?” Izuku blinks. 

“A-All Might?” Izuku asks. Mirio blinks, then laughs, tipping his head back slightly and shaking his head.

“Oh, no, not him! Although I can see where the confusion comes from,” Mirio says, smiling. “My mentor for work-studies is Nighteye.” Izuku stares back at Mirio. Izuku has heard of Nighteye, has heard of his foresight quirk. It was part of what Izuku used as inspiration for his fake quirk, Mulligan, after all. Izuku knows just how disastrous it could be for him to meet someone who could  _ see his future _ . What would they see? The closest timeline? Or the one Izuku lets stick?

“I-I don’t know,” Izuku says, biting at his lower lip. “I-I’m worried I might fall behind in my classes,” he says, looking down at the ground between him and Mirio. The concrete is clean and white, still fresh from where this part of the campus was built. 

“Just think about it, okay?” Mirio says, voice gentle. “There’s no pressure. Work studies are normally a second year thing, anyway.”

Izuku nods. “Y-Yeah,” he says. “Thank you.” Izuku shuffles his feet slightly. Mirio gives him a bright smile and a thumbs up.

“Of course!” Mirio turns, starting to walk away. “If either of you need anything, you know where to find me,” he says as he starts down the stairs, away from Izuku and Shinsou. Izuku stares after him, swallowing down his anxiety as Shinsou sighs beside him. They turn and walk back into the dorms, talking about classes coming up this semester, but Izuku’s mind is still on Sir Nighteye and what would happen if they ever met. 

\--

When Izuku slips out of the dorm, sneaks down the stairs and through the quiet woods to his tree, he’s buzzing with excitement. Today is the day where  _ finally,  _ he gets to wear the new costume that Miura had prepared for him over a week ago. He’d shoved it into the hollow of the lightning-tree the night before, but he hadn’t looked too closely at it, not wanting to spoil the surprise. 

Now, when he pulls it out from the gap in the tree trunk, the pale, grey-blue fabric of the sweater shining in the light of the moon. Izuku carefully takes out each piece of the costume, setting them on the ground. There’s a sweater, with pale, dove-grey and dark blueish argyle patterns on it, made of thick, high quality fabric. The pants are a plain, flat black, with grey patches on the knees with black spades on them, like from a deck of cards. There’s a red utility belt, a lot like his old one, but the pockets on this one have card designs on them, with each suit from a deck, and the belt itself is made from smooth leather instead of cheap fabric. 

The jacket is probably the nicest thing about the costume. It’s made from durable, thick red fabric, and it feels protective, like denim. The back is ornately decorated, with card-deck designs in dark blue and red stitched on. There’s also a pair of new, neat red gloves, and a pair of tall, red-leather boots. There’s a logo shaped like a spade with an ornate, script  _ A _ on both the front and the back of the jacket as well, and Miura included a new set of reflective ski goggles, red and perfectly sized to his face. There’s a mask as well, along with a gauze-like wrap that Izuku thinks is meant to wrap around his neck and face, but he’s not quite sure. 

Izuku picks up the sweater, feeling the weight of it in his hands. He slides it on over his head. It’s fairly soft, and when Izuku tugs at the collar to look down at the inside of it, he realizes it’s reversible. The argyle pattern is green and pale gold on the inside, something totally different from the blue and grey of the outside.  _ I can better hide my identity this way,  _ Izuku realizes. 

He puts the rest of the costume on quickly, noting the way the jacket is reversible too, turning into a plain black leather jacket when turned inside out. The boots look like they can be unbuckled and the tops folded down to make them look different, if Izuku wanted them to. He marvels at the way the costume fits perfectly; even though Miura had measured him, he hadn’t expected it to fit quite  _ this _ well. 

When Izuku slicks his hair back with the black gel Miura got for him, easier to put on and less messy than the dye, his look is complete. He shoves his other clothing and the bottle of hair gel into the tree, making sure that none of his stash can be seen unless someone were to go right up to the tree itself. 

The night is warm and clear as Izuku sneaks off of campus. It’s something he’s done a couple of times, now, and it’s not hard to get past UA’s security as a student. The surveillance bots aren’t exactly difficult to spot, now that he knows to look for the blinking red lights on their faces and listen to the sounds of their wheels rumbling on the ground. They don’t patrol the wooded area, either, probably because it’s not smooth enough for them to roll over. If Izuku ever stops sneaking out, he should tell UA about that security risk. If he can sneak out and back in every night, then it wouldn’t be too difficult for someone to steal a student ID and get in the same way he’s been doing it. 

Izuku waits for the bots patrolling the gate out of campus to turn away from him, then he darts over the threshold. His new clothes are easier to move in than his old costume was, and it sends a thrill through him. He feels so official, like a real hero in a way that he never has in his Deku outfit or in the older version of this costume. It’s foreign to him, feeling so confident in what he looks like, even though he wouldn’t necessarily say he’s the type to worry about his looks. Izuku supposes there’s just  _ something _ about having a super cool secret identity and a costume to match.

Izuku slips along the streets of Musutafu, the motion familiar even if his starting point is different, now. He hasn’t really, truly patrolled since coming to UA, just tried to complete his mission and tested if he could get out of UA, and he thinks that tonight, he should. Maybe he’ll do it after he’s gotten the information that he needs out of Death Arm’s agency. He still isn’t looking forward to that; even as he ducks into an alleyway and scales the fire escape, rusted iron railing digging into his gloves, he’s nervous about completing the mission itself. It’s easy to get onto the roof, just like he’s done so many times before. Jumping from one roof to another, running along the top of the city in goggles and a mask, feels like coming home. 

Izuku finds Death Arm’s agency building too soon. It’s a small thing, especially for a hero as successful as Death Arms is, but Izuku supposes that Death Arms is a local hero, anyway. The building has decorations painted along the bottom of it, the black and yellow stripes matching the arm guards on Death Arms’ costume. Izuku knows it’s the right place for sure, even though he’s currently eyeing the back door from atop a roof. 

Izuku doesn’t see any cameras or anything like that, not that it would particularly matter for him. He clambers down the side of the neighboring building, his new gloves giving him more purchase than he’s ever had before. It’s amazing, really; Izuku thinks he could scale nearly sheer surfaces this way. He hops off of the building onto the ground, his feet making a soft noise as they contact the concrete sidewalk. Izuku walks to the door, taking a slow breath.

He tries the knob first, because why not? It’s locked, though, and it makes a rattling noise when he tries to turn it each way. Izuku bites at his lower lip, then crouches down to examine the lock itself. There’s a keyhole on the outside, thankfully, and Izuku’s learned how to pick locks already. He fishes out the supplies he has for it, tucked into the pouch on his belt that’s decorated with a ‘clubs’ design. It’s not an actual lockpicking kit, rather something he put together from odds and ends from local stores, but it worked when he taught himself to lockpick for fun in middle school, and it works to pick the lock to the roof-access door at UA. He hopes it’s enough for the back door to a pro’s agency.

It only takes Izuku a few moments with his tools, the sounds of metal on metal soft in the space. Izuku can hear the wind whispering between the buildings, just barely covering the sound of the doorknob turning and of Izuku’s own too-fast breathing as he pulls the door open. It’s a heavy, steel door, but that doesn’t do the agency any good with a lock as easy to pick as this on eis. Izuku thinks about that Clean guy’s quirk, with the soap. He could have easily taken this door off of the hinges the same way Izuku had seen him do before, soaping up the hinges and pulling the pins that hold them together apart. 

Izuku steps into the quiet, dark building. The only thing he can hear is the sounds of his breathing from within his mask, the air sneaking through the fabric and the wrap he has covering his face and neck. His footsteps echo through the hallway as he steps inside, pausing to tug the door shut behind him. It clicks shut and leaves Izuku in almost complete darkness for a moment before his eyes start to adjust. There’s a window at the front of the building, and in both of the rooms to Izuku’s sides, probably. He can see light the same blue-grey as moonlight seeping under the doors. 

Izuku tries the first door to the right. It’s not marked, but it isn’t locked either. Izuku opens it, some part of him hoping for some kind of alarm to go off, so that he can’t get the information. The other part of him desperately wants for this mission to go well. Izuku doesn’t know if he’d survive another day with Fury angry at him, not if the first time was really as light of a punishment as Fury had said. Izuku lets out a breath when nothing happens, but unfortunately, there isn’t anything in the room, either. It looks like a conference room, with a table surrounded by office chairs and a whiteboard on one wall. Izuku shuts the door, turning to the left side of the hallway and trying the door there.

Izuku opens the door to an office. It’s decorated, with pictures of happy looking children with grey hair and bright orange eyes. There’s two girls and a boy in the pictures, all smiles and laughs. Izuku sees a couple pictures of a woman, too, a lady with black hair and bright orange eyes that match her children’s. Izuku realizes, suddenly, that this is Death Arms’ office; there’s even what looks like a copy of his costume draped over a chair in the back. Izuku takes a deep breath, stepping inside. There’s no computer, but Izuku wouldn’t be surprised if Death Arms had the information on paper. Izuku doesn’t even know if Death Arms does the quirk counseling services himself, or if he’d have the records in his office if it was someone else. Izuku doesn’t have any better ideas, though, so he starts opening the desk drawers. 

The first drawer just has pencils, pens, envelopes, and tape in it. Izuku bites at his lower lip as he shuts the smaller top drawer and opens the large one below it. It’s set up as hanging file storage, with labels for sections. Izuku feels his heart sink when he sees the kanji for “Quirk Counseling” on one of the section dividers. He reaches into the drawer, pulling out that chunk of papers.

Izuku rifles through them, quickly, confirming what they are. Each page has a name, an age, a family quirk history, contact information, and  _ detailed _ analysis of the child’s quirk. There are only about twenty files in the record, which doesn’t surprise Izuku. From what he’d figured out from poking around on the internet, this isn’t exactly a large quirk counseling operation that Death Arms is sponsoring. Izuku sits down on the floor of the office and starts to read. 

It doesn’t take Izuku long to memorize every name and every quirk, down to the tiniest details. He’s spent so long looking at quirks and analyzing them, after all. The words seem to glue themselves to his mind without any problem at all. Izuku doesn’t bother putting the papers back, doesn’t bother shutting the drawer to the desk. He slips out of the office and into the conference room next door. He feels numb and tired as he sits on the edge of the conference table, staring into the darkness of the building. 

The issue isn’t that he can’t lie about the quirks. It’s that Izuku has no idea what  _ exactly _ the Gekkeiju is looking for in a quirk, what quirks will be useful to them. Some of these kids, he’s not worried about. There’s one who can change the color of her skin, which would make her amazing at camouflage and might even be able to make her invisible if she works with it, but it isn’t something that is useful to a villain organization, not now. The thing is that most of the kids, even if their quirk isn’t strong or flashy or cool, could easily be abused. There’s a kid who can sense animals, including people, within a few hundred feet of him. He could easily be used as security for the Gekkeiju, if that’s what they’re looking for. There’s a pair of siblings, each with weak telekinesis quirks, but their parents’ quirks are  _ strong _ . Maybe the Gekkeiju is after fighters. Izuku doesn’t know.

Izuku doesn’t know how much is safe to omit and how much he can’t possibly leave in. Izuku doesn’t know what will happen to the kids who meet the Gekkeiju’s criteria, if they’ll be captured or killed or  _ what _ . Izuku doesn’t know anything. 

Izuku slides his knife into the flesh of his throat and bleeds out into the building he’s broken into. Izuku feels the tug of his quirk, like tiny hands pulling at the edges of his mind, and he prays that he won’t be the reason any of these children end up dying, themselves.

\--

When Izuku walks into the classroom to meet Shinsou and Aizawa for their private training, he’s surprised to see three familiar faces in addition to Shinsou’s. Maka, Ema, and Haruta are all standing near the front of the classroom, with Maka leaning against Aizawa’s desk and licking the underside of a blue popsicle. Ema and Haruta are talking quietly as they stand between Maka and the far wall of the room. Shinsou is sitting in his usual seat, a scowl plastered on his face. Izuku steps into the room, his fingers twisting in each other as he fidgets.

“Um,” he starts, and Ema and Haruta both turn to look at him, their cat ears twitching in unison. “Where’s Aizawa-sensei?”

“Probably asleep,” Maka answers, glancing over at him. She stares him dead in the eye and takes a bite out of her popsicle. Izuku winces in sympathy for her teeth, but she seems unbothered. Izuku can’t smell the scent of her quirk, which he wonders about, but he supposes between the air conditioning, the popsicle, and the fact that she’s wearing a wine red tank top and a pair of athletic shorts, she’d be hard pressed to sweat at all. Izuku’s grateful for that; he’s not sure if he could handle the enhanced fear right now. 

“He’s on a mission,” Ema says, giving Izuku a nod. “He asked us to train with you two today instead! We’re still supposed to be mentoring you guys anyway, so it works out.” She nudges her brother with an elbow. “Haruta had a good idea.”

“It’s a shitty idea,” Shinsou mutters. Izuku looks at him, frowning.

“I-It kind of is, yeah,” Haruta agrees. Izuku looks back and forth between the two of them. After a moment of nobody explaining, Izuku swallows.

“Uh, w-what is it?” Izuku asks, and Ema perks up.

“Haruta was wondering if Shinsou would be able to make people do more complicated stuff, since he can make people sleep!” Ema holds a finger up, her pink eyes sparkling. “Shinsou says he can’t make people answer questions and stuff, but maybe with enough training, he can!” She smiles. “I know it wouldn’t really be training for you, but maybe next time we can--”

“I think that’s a great idea!” Izuku says, a grin splitting his face. “Shinsou’s quirk has so much potential for stuff like that! Like, do we know that his quirk is constrained by what the person he’s controlling knows how to do? Or is it based on what he knows? If he knows how to skateboard but the person he’s brainwashing doesn’t and he asked them to skateboard, could they or would--” 

“Midoriya,” Shinsou says, sighing and dropping his head onto his desk. Izuku blinks, freezing. 

“S-Sorry, I didn’t mean to ramble!” Izuku says, raising his hands in front of him. “I-I just think your quirk has a lot of potential uses!” He sees Ema nodding out of the corner of his eye, and she chimes in.

“Yeah, exactly!” she says. “I think you should give it a shot. I don’t mind being brainwashed, and if I want to get released, Haruta should be able to tell you, since he can read my mind the whole time.” She gives Shinsou a thumbs up. “You don’t have to worry about me judging you or anything, either! I had a really hard time managing my quirk for a long time.” Shinsou sighs, lifting his head from the desk. He glances over to Izuku, giving him a long-suffering stare before he looks over to Ema.

“Fine,” he says. “But don’t get your hopes up,” he drawls, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest. “I seriously doubt that, even if my quirk is capable of something like this, that I’d figure out how to do it in just one session.”

“Who says it’ll be just one, silly?” Ema says, sticking out her tongue at Shinsou. “Go ahead, whenever you’re ready!” Ema leans forward eagerly. Shinsou stares back at her, violet eyes half-closed.

“Alright. Uh,” Shinsou pauses, like he’s thinking. “Why pink, for the contacts?”

Ema smiles. “Oh, it’s my favorite--” she trails off, her face going blank. The pink contacts seem to hide the effect Shinsou’s quirk usually has on the way his target’s eyes look, but it’s clear that she’s being controlled. Next to her, Haruta’s brow furrows slightly. Izuku watches Shinsou turn his gaze to him.

“What now?” he asks, unfolding his arms where they’re crossed over his chest to rest one elbow on the desk in front of him. Haruta blinks.

“U-Um, you should try getting her to ask a question,” Haruta says, swallowing. “It... it’s different then I expected it to feel, reading her like this.” 

Shinsou raises an eyebrow. “I have no idea what that means,” he drawls, but Izuku thinks he can hear something that might be anxiety in Shinsou’s voice. Haruta chews on his lower lip, thinking.

“Mm,” he hums. “It’s like she’s asleep, but not dreaming. I thought it’d feel more distinct. Most mind affecting quirks feel really obvious, but this one is subtle.” He raises a hand to his chin. “Try asking her to do something?” Izuku watches them as Shinsou nods, then looks back at Ema.

“Tell me your favorite color,” he says, his voice rippling with the faint power it holds when he uses his quirk. Ema doesn’t move an inch, but Haruta blinks, his eyes widening.

“Oh, you--” Haruta blinks, giving his head a shake, his long grey hair swishing as he does. “That--that did something,” he says. Izuku can see Shinsou arch an eyebrow.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Shinsou says. Haruta shakes his head, again. 

“No, she--she thought about it. H-Her favorite color,” Haruta explains, reaching one hand up to fidget with one of his ears, furry and grey and sticking out of his hair. Shinsou’s eyes narrow.

“Tell me your favorite color,” he says again, and it sounds the same to Izuku, but he sees Haruta’s face twitch, and Ema opens her mouth.

“Pink,” she says, her voice lacking any inflection at all. Izuku watches Shinsou’s eyes widen. 

“Whoa, that was really cool!” Izuku says, grinning. Haruta nods, his blue eyes wide. Maka throws her popsicle stick across the room, and it makes a quiet clattering sound as it lands on a desk. Everyone turns to look at her except Ema.

“What did you do different?” Maka asks, eyes on Shinsou. Shinsou stares back at her, face dropping into the slightest frown.

“I just pushed harder,” he says. Maka raises an eyebrow, and Shinsou sighs, rolling his eyes. “It’s how my quirk works. I have to put pressure behind commands,” he says. “It’s more pressure for more people, so I tried doing it like she was multiple people.”

“What’s truly amazing,” Maka drawls, “is that you’re so smart and yet you still haven’t tried that before.” She folds her arms over her chest, shutting her eyes. Izuku frowns, but Shinsou just snorts.

“Okay, says the one who doesn’t have to do anything at all to activate her quirk,” Shinsou says. He turns back to Ema. “Tell me your birthday,” he says, and when Izuku watches this time, he can see the faintest hints of strain on Shinsou’s face.

“December thirteenth,” Ema answers. Haruta nods, confirming it. Maka hums approvingly under her breath, her eyes still shut.

“Looks like you really can get them to answer questions, Shinsou!” Izuku says, giving Shinsou a little smile when he looks over at Izuku. 

“Those are easy questions,” Maka says. Izuku sees Shinsou’s head snap over to glare at him. “Ask her something that makes her think.”

Shinsou sighs, but he says, “Tell me something I don’t know,” he says. Nothing happens, except Shinsou’s eyes narrow and Haruta frowns slightly.

“Maybe vague things are a little too much right now?” He suggests, worrying at his lower lip. Shinsou nods curtly.

“Tell me what you’re doing after this,” he says. Izuku looks over to Ema, who opens her mouth.

“I’m going to go on a dinner date with Maka-chan,” she says plainly. Izuku blinks.

“You two are dating?” he blurts out, before he can think better of it. Maka opens one eye and looks at him with a lazy gaze.

“Obviously,” she says, then shuts her eye again. “That was a good one. How are you feeling?” she asks. Izuku blinks, glancing over to Shinsou. Now that Izuku looks at him, he’s slightly pale in the face, with beads of sweat gathering on his forehead.

“I’m fine,” Shinsou says, gritting his teeth. Maka grunts in acknowledgement, but doesn’t say anything else, at least not immediately. Izuku watches as she takes a few breaths, tapping her fingers against the skin of her arms.

“Ask her to use her quirk to tell you something you couldn’t know,” Maka says. “She should be able to hear anything in this building at the very least, and she can probably smell whatever there is in the cafeteria.” Izuku turns his gaze to Shinsou, who narrows his eyes in concentration.

“Tell me how many people you can hear in this building, the five of us excluded,” Shinsou says. There’s a moment’s pause, with the only sound in the room being the tick of the clock that hangs at the back.

“Six,” Ema replies. Izuku blinks, looking over to Shinsou. His friend’s face looks strained, his lips pressed together into a line. A bead of sweat rolls down his forehead, collecting in his violet eyebrow.

“We should stop,” Haruta says, quietly. “Ema’s fine, but I can feel your headache from here, and I’m not even trying to read you, Shinsou.” He frowns slightly at Shinsou, a downturn to his lips that lessens suddenly when Ema blinks, reaching up a hand to rub at her eyes.

“Okay, that was freaking cool,” she says, licking her lips. “We should totally work more on that in the future! It was like I was a video game character and you were the player!” she bounces on her heels, excitedly. Izuku glances to Shinsou, who swallows, his face still pale.

“Whatever,” he says under his breath. 

“Take him back to the dorm, Midoriya,” Maka says, and when Izuku glances up at her, she’s opened her eyes and taken a few steps away from the desk, towards Shinsou and Izuku. “Next time we’ll focus on you to make up for it.” Izuku nods quickly, turning back to Shinsou. He takes a step towards Shinsou, to offer him a hand, but Shinsou’s rising from his chair before Izuku gets the chance.

They walk back to the dorms together, and even if Shinsou is quiet and in pain, Izuku can tell he’s excited. Izuku’s excited, too. With a quirk as powerful as Shinsou’s, there’s nothing he couldn’t do. 

\--

Izuku’s in the common room when he gets the phone call. He feels the vibration through the pocket of his cargo shorts, and even though he knows that his burner phone is upstairs, between his mattress and the bedframe, for a moment, his blood fills with icy anxiety and he feels himself go pale. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, relaxing when he confirms that, yes, it’s his normal phone. The screen says the call is from Mirko. Izuku blinks at it for a moment, then hops off the couch and starts to walk away from the movie he, Todoroki, Uraraka, Iida, and Tsuyu had been watching. 

“I-I gotta take this!” he says, holding up his phone and pointing at it. He sees Todoroki and Uraraka nod, and that’s enough for him to quickly walk over to the back of the room, where there’s nobody to disturb with his call. He accepts the call, holding the phone up to his ear.

“H-Hello?” he says, his voice shaky. He hears some rustling on the other end.

“Hey kid!” Mirko says, her voice bright and loud. “How’s it goin’? I heard they stuck you in dorms.” 

“Um, y-yeah!” Izuku says, relaxing slightly. He leans against the wall, shoving his free hand in his pocket. “I-It’s been pretty good. I got my provisional license,” he adds, biting at his lower lip.

“That’s awesome!” Mirko says, and Izuku can hear the grin in her voice even over the phone. “I knew you would. Kind of what I wanted to ask you about, actually. Would you wanna do a work study with me?” Izuku blinks.

“Uh, m-maybe!” he says, swallowing. “I’m, um, not sure I’m going to have time, to be honest...” He trails off a little, and he hears Mirko hum knowingly on the other end.

“Yeah, hero school is kinda crazy,” she says. “If you decide you want to do one, I’m just sayin’ you’re my first pick, ‘kay?” She laughs brightly over the receiver. “And when you guys do your second round of them, defo give me a call.”

“O-Okay,” Izuku replies. He swallows again, around a bit of anxiety in his throat. “I-I’m sorry that I’m not doing one, it’s just t-that--” Mirko cuts him off.

“Hey, none of that. I’m glad you’re being responsible about school ‘n stuff. I bet if you did a work study too, you’d end up just staying up all night to study, right?” She chuckles. “Nah, you’re doing the right thing here, kiddo. Don’t overextend yourself.” Izuku smiles slightly, feeling something that, embarrassingly enough, feels like tears prickling in his eyes.

“O-Okay, Mirko,” he says. “Thank you!” He hears her hum on the other end of the phone.

“Of course, of course!” There’s a slight rustling. “You can always call or text me if you want to, you know. I can’t help with homework, though, just warning you.” Izuku giggles slightly at that. 

“I-I’ll call you if I need to,” he says, even though he doesn’t really anticipate actually  _ doing _ that. Izuku wouldn’t want to bother Mirko with anything, not when she’s a top ten hero.

“Good!” Mirko replies. “I’m gonna let you go now, but make sure to give me a call if you change your mind and think you’ve got enough time for a work study.”

Izuku nods, then remembers she can’t see him. “R-Right!” he chirps. “Bye, Mirko!” She chuckles lightly.

“Bye-bye, kiddo,” she says, and then the phone clicks, telling Izuku that she’s hung up. He slides the phone back into his pocket and takes a deep, steadying breath. Even though Mirko doesn’t know that he’s taking the extra time to break the law, that he’s staying up most nights  _ anyway _ , it still feels nice to hear her praise. Izuku walks back over to his friends with a smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: nothing out of the ordinary
> 
> [discord!](https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt)
> 
>   
> [reference](https://mrsketchy.tumblr.com/post/643442678041837568/better-luck-next-time-nautical-warrior-upcoming) for ace's new costume, designed and drawn by the amazing [mrsketchy!!](https://mrsketchy.tumblr.com/)
> 
> sorry this one was late, by the way!!! today sucked major ass and im having health issues (again) so i had to stay up late to finish it lolz


	62. truth and lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: mirio is like "bro come work for sir" then he goes out as ace in his new fit to break in to Death Arms place and kill himself. trains with maka and co. shinsou can get information now. mirko asks izu to intern (summary by ppl in my server bc im brain dead rn)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys!!! 
> 
> something i want to address real quick--a lot of people have been asking if this story will include romance. i didn't want to reveal that necessarily, but ive been getting a lot of questions about it, and i've also gotten some not-so-nice comments, so i thought i would address that. if you don't want to know, please stop reading this note here!
> 
> there will not be any romantic relationships with izuku in this fic. there may be one-sided romantic feelings from other characters or relationships between side characters. i want to focus on developing platonic relationships in this fic. i also don't believe a relationship would be healthy for izuku in his current state. i will likely post separate, non-canon oneshots for the more popular ships for this fic (such as bakudeku, tododeku, shindeku, and monodeku). if you have a problem with this decision, then im sorry. i have been getting some very very rude comments, claiming that my fic was a "waste of time" or would be "ruined" if i did or didn't do certain ships in the fic. 
> 
> i write this fanfiction for free. i spend 4-6 hours a DAY writing this. im under no obligation to share it with others. i love writing, and the majority of things people send me are positive, but im still a person and the negative comments still hurt.

Izuku is sitting on the edge of the rooftop, his legs dangling over the ledge as he stares out at the city. It’s a cool night, with the wind crisp against the slivers of his face between his goggles and his new mask. He’s just finished a patrol, one of his usual ones, and after three robberies and two attempted assaults, he’s pretty exhausted. It’s a good kind of exhaustion, though, the kind that sticks to his bones and reminds him that even if he does evil with the Gekkeiju, he’s done something good here tonight. 

Izuku takes a deep, slow breath when he hears the sound of someone landing on the other side of the rooftop, behind him. He might be nervous, might turn and look to see who it is, if he couldn’t hear the soft rustling of thick fabric, the sound that Aizawa’s capture weapon always, always makes. Izuku doesn’t turn his head.

“Hi, Eraserhead,” Izuku says, quietly. “It’s starting to cool off, isn’t it?” He kicks his legs back against the roof, his heels knocking against the brick of the building below him. He hears Aizawa take a few steps closer to him, hears a soft sigh.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Aizawa answers. “You’ve got a new look.” Izuku nods, leaning back and putting his weight on his hands. 

“Yep,” Izuku answers, popping the  _ p _ . “Pretty cool, right?” 

“Yeah,” Aizawa says. “Why don’t you get away from the ledge so we can talk?” Izuku blinks at that, turning his head back to look at his teacher.

“What, are you worried I’m going to fall?” Izuku asks. He sees Aizawa staring back at him, arms crossed over his chest. Izuku sighs, lifting his legs and pulling himself to his feet, taking a few steps away from the edge itself. He faces Aizawa, shoving his hands into the pockets of his new pants and staring his teacher down. He’s even more hidden than usual, with how much better the new costume really disguises him, but he still feels strangely exposed. His teacher stares back at him, eyes glinting behind golden goggles.

“You’ve been busy tonight,” Aizawa says. “More than you usually are.” Izuku nods. He usually doesn’t stay out this long or stop quite this much crime, but that’s because he normally tries to get a little more sleep.

“Just felt like staying out longer, I guess,” Izuku stays, shrugging. “I have some information for you, by the way.” He looks at Aizawa’s chest instead of his eyes; it’s not like Aizawa would be able to see that Izuku isn’t looking him in the eye, anyway.

“Oh?” Aizawa asks, raising an eyebrow. “I know I told you to stay away from villain organizations,” he says, and Izuku can’t help but snort.

“Kinda hard to do that in my line of work,” Izuku says, not without a hint of bitterness.  _ How funny is it that I got myself into this situation as Izuku, not Ace? _ “The Gekkeiju are investigating children’s quirks,” he says. “Not sure what they want, exactly, but you should probably keep an eye out on the kids who got counseling in the area.” Izuku chews on the inside of his cheek, wondering if it’d be safe to give the specific name of the agency. He sees Aizawa’s brows furrow.

“How do you know that?” Aizawa asks. “We’ve made multiple pros and multiple detectives from the police force working on investigating the Gekkeiju for months now, and we have nothing.” Aizawa takes a breath. “How did you get that information, Ace?”

Izuku swallows. “I, uh.” He takes a step back, glancing behind him to double check the height of the roof. “You’re not about to arrest me, are you?” 

Aizawa huffs out a breath, rolling his eyes. “No, I’m not. I want to know exactly how much danger you’re in, so that if someone matching your description goes missing, we have the necessary information to find you.” He sighs. “The Gekkeiju is one of the two organizations that attacked UA a month and a half ago, as I’m sure you’ve heard. They’re dangerous, Ace.”

“So you’ve said,” Izuku mutters. “I’ll survive.” Izuku fidgets with the ends of his sleeves, the thick sweater fabric warm and textured even through his gloves. 

“...right,” Aizawa says, then sighs. “I can’t help you if you don’t give me any information to work with, Ace.” Izuku swallows.

“I, uh. Might have.” Izuku takes a slow breath, aware of Aizawa’s gaze on him. “I might have joined the Gekkeiju?” His voice picks up in pitch near the end, as he sees Aizawa’s eyes narrow behind the goggles.

“You  _ what _ ,” Aizawa growls. He sighs, pressing the palm of one hand to his forehead. “You’re going to be the death of me, I swear,” he mutters. 

“I-If it helps at all, I’m pretty sure they don’t know I’m spying on them,” Izuku says, holding his palms out and shrugging. Aizawa stares at him for a long moment. Izuku feels his heartbeat pick up under the scrutiny, feels a thin sheen of sweat form on his face, under his costume. Izuku would really, really like for Aizawa to stop staring at him. 

“Okay,” Aizawa says, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. “Fuck, okay. You’re a double agent. Great. A vigilante with an unknown identity who is almost certainly a child is actively working with villains who are known to abduct and kill children.” He tips his head back slightly, his palm still pressed to his forehead. “Amazing, really.” Izuku stares at him.

“Sorry?” Izuku offers. He presses his mouth into a thin line and looks to the side. “I didn’t really have a choice. They have prisoners, and I-I can’t just.... I can’t just  _ leave _ them there,” he says, clenching his hands into fists. “There’s a  _ kid _ . A little girl.”

“ _ You’re _ a kid,” Aizawa says quietly, but he sighs, dropping his hands to his sides. “Okay,” he says, firmly, in his teacher-voice. “This is what we’re going to do. I’m going to provide you support on this, and you’ll keep me updated on your status and what’s going on.” Izuku opens his mouth to reply, a little noise coming out before Aizawa gives him a look, continuing. “You’re doing this to get us information anyway, right? It’ll be easier for you to help the people they’re holding captive if you’re in regular contact with me.” 

Izuku nods, slowly. “I-I don’t want to reveal my identity,” he says, swallowing. “I can keep you updated, but I’m not going to tell you who I am.” Aizawa nods, with a slight sigh.

“I kind of figured as much,” he says, “although I think it’d be safer for you if I knew.” He looks Izuku over, with a thoughtful gaze. “Are you doing okay?” he asks, voice softening slightly. Izuku wonders what he’d seen in Izuku’s body language that made him ask that. Izuku knows he’s been fidgeting a fair amount, picking at his sleeves and flexing his hands, but he doesn’t think it’s  _ obvious _ .

“I’m fine,” Izuku answers, shortly. “I really don’t need any help, but it would be good to have a way to get in contact with you quickly,” he says. “I-I still have your contact info.” Izuku has it memorized, but Aizawa doesn’t need to know that. “I could text you?” 

Aizawa nods. “That will work,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Will you, though? You’ve had my number this entire time, but you haven’t contacted me once.” Izuku swallows.  _ I can’t exactly tell him that he would recognize my main phone number, if I’d called him. _

“I-I will, if it’s an emergency,” Izuku says, shifting. “I should--I should probably go now,” he says, lamely. It’s true enough, at least; the sun is starting to light the edge of the sky, not quite breaking above the horizon. Izuku won’t be sleeping tonight, but he’ll need to hurry if he’s going to clean the gel from his hair in the bathrooms before anyone else is awake to catch him. Aizawa breathes out.

“Okay,” he says. “I’d tell you not to take any unnecessary risks, but I know you wouldn’t listen, anyway,” Aizawa says, his eyes narrowed behind his goggles. Izuku bites back a smile as he steps back over to the edge of the roof, sliding down onto the fire escape below. Izuku pauses for a moment, then turns, climbing back up onto the roof.

“Wait, A--Eraserhead!” Izuku calls, scrambling back onto the roof. “There’s something I forgot to tell you.” He sees Aizawa turn back to look at him from the other end of the roof.

“I, uh, I overheard some intel on the League,” Izuku says. “Toga Himiko--she infiltrated the provisional license exam,” he says, watching as Aizawa’s brows knit together.

“What?” he asks, walking towards Izuku. Izuku swallows.

“She was pretending to be a Shiketsu student, I think. Her quirk, it lets her transform into another person. That’s all I know, though,” he finishes, biting at his lower lip. “I really should go now.”

Aizawa stares at him. “Right,” Aizawa says, with a sigh. “Text me sometime in this next week, so that I can contact you if we get any intel that suggests the Gekkeiju could be onto you,” he says, and Izuku nods.

“I will,” he promises, and he slips away again, this time for real.

\--

When Izuku approaches Aizawa after class, Aizawa is at the chalkboard, erasing away the notes from that day’s lecture. Izuku sees him glance over his shoulder, then turn back to the board, swiping the eraser over the last portion of the board before he sets the eraser down on the ledge under the board that holds the chalk.

“Yes?” Aizawa asks, turning to look at Izuku. He goes to put his hands in his pockets, but he pauses, looking down at his hands. Izuku can see the white chalk powder coating them.

“I-I wanted to ask, um, permission to go home this weekend,” Izuku says, shuffling his feet as he watches Aizawa walk over to his desk and open a drawer, fiddling around for a moment before he pulls out what looks like a baby wipe. He looks up at Izuku as he wipes the chalk powder from his hands.

“No,” Aizawa says, his face and voice serious as he meets Izuku’s eyes. “You’re not leaving campus until you explain to either myself or your mother how you managed to get that injury last time you went home,” he says. Izuku blinks, opening his mouth and stuttering out a reply while Aizawa walks to the trash can and dumps his used wipe there.

“You--You talked to my m-mom?” Izuku asks. Aizawa looks back over at him as he crosses the classroom, moving to one of the desks in the front row and sitting on top of it, crossing his legs over each other.

“Sit,” Aizawa says, waving a hand at the desk next to him. Izuku swallows thickly and moves, taking a seat in the chair. He’s lower down than Aizawa this way, and it makes him feel even smaller, but he doesn’t think that Aizawa would be fond of him sitting on top of the desk itself, either.

“Yes, your mother and I talked,” Aizawa says, leaning forward and leaning one of his forearms on his crossed legs. “Since it doesn’t appear to be her inflicting these injuries on you, we don’t have any idea of who hurt you or under what circumstances,” Aizawa says, his dark eyes half lidded. “It would be illogical to send you back into a situation where you would likely be injured.” Izuku stares back at him.  _ I can’t believe Mom would do this to me _ , he thinks as he stares at Aizawa with wide eyes.  _ She knows what’s at stake, doesn’t she? Why would she interfere? _

“I-I have to go,” Izuku says, biting at his lower lip and fisting his hands in the fabric of his uniform pants. Aizawa’s face doesn’t change

“Why?” Aizawa asks, simply. 

“I just--I just need to,” Izuku says, blinking back stinging tears of frustration where they’ve started to form at the bottom edge of his eye. “I  _ have  _ to.” Aizawa arches an eyebrow at him.

“If you’re able to explain the reason, and what happened, I might change my mind,” Aizawa says. “I’m trying to make sure you’re safe, Midoriya.”

“I  _ am _ safe,” Izuku replies. Aizawa sighs.

“I don’t think you are,” he says, uncrossing his legs and standing up from the desk. “This conversation is over, Midoriya,” Aizawa says, shoving his hands in his pockets and taking a few steps toward the door. “If you’d like to talk to me about anything,” he says, pausing in the doorway, “I’ll be in the staff dorm. I’m not going to let you leave campus to go somewhere you’ve been seriously injured.” He steps out of the room, and Izuku stares after him. His first thought is,  _ a broken wrist isn’t a serious injury _ , and then he’s processing what just happened.

Izuku could just sneak out. The thing is, since Izuku asked and because he’d have to leave in the morning, chances are good that someone would catch him as he tried to sneak away, tried to slip between the robots and Aizawa and everyone. The other problem is that Fury might ask Izuku to stay the night. He might injure Izuku again, might break his arm or burn him or use his quirk on Izuku. Suddenly, viscerally, Izuku wishes he  _ hadn’t _ told Aizawa when he was hurt, last time. It had made training easier, that day, and it had been nice to receive healing, but now Izuku is paying the price. He’s being punished for his slip-up. 

Izuku takes a deep, slow breath. He wraps his hand around his backpack strap where it’s thrown over his shoulder. He walks out of the classroom, down the hall to the bathrooms. 

He takes out a knife, he cuts, and he bleeds.

\--

“Yes?” Aizawa asks as Izuku opens his eyes. His teacher is turning to look at Izuku, his hands still covered in chalk. Izuku blinks for a moment, biting at his bottom lip as he gathers himself.

“I-I wanted to ask you if I--if I could go home, um, this weekend,” Izuku says. He watches Aizawa open the desk drawer, again, take out the wet wipe, again, and start to wipe his hands clean.

“No,” Aizawa says. Izuku knows he’s going to say more, but Izuku opens his mouth and starts to talk before his teacher can get his explanation out.

“I-I’m not going to get hurt again,” Izuku says, and he watches Aizawa’s brow raise as he chucks the wipe into the trash can, making the shot without even looking. 

“I don’t believe you,” Aizawa says, shoving his now-clean hands into his pockets. He takes a few steps, putting himself in front of his desk rather than behind it, still facing Izuku.

“I know,” Izuku replies. “If I--If I tell you what happened, would you let me?” He watches his teacher sit on the same desk as last time. Izuku moves to sit in the chair across from him, even before his teacher asks him to. Aizawa watches him with a serious expression.

“That depends on how you got hurt,” he says, his eyes on Izuku. “What happened?” Izuku swallows.

“I, uh, got into a fight,” Izuku says, swallowing and looking down at the ground. “I’m not the most popular person in my neighborhood, right now, so, uh, when I ran into some kids from my middle school...” he trails off, glancing up at Aizawa. His teacher’s brows are furrowed, slightly, creased in the center of his face.

“Midoriya,” he says, slowly. “That handprint on your arm was not from someone your age.” Aizawa looks at him like he’s trying to see into Izuku’s brain. Izuku swallows. 

“H-He was kind of a big guy?” Izuku offers. Aizawa stares back at him.

“...No,” he says, sighing and rising from his place on the desk. “I’m not going to let you go, especially when you’ve just lied to me about what happened,” Aizawa says, his lips pressed into a thin line. “You’ll be staying on campus, Midoriya.” Aizawa turns, moving to walk out of the classroom. Izuku watches him go, despair rolling in the pit of his stomach.

Izuku wonders, as the sounds of Aizawa’s footsteps grow quieter and quieter, if he’d get caught if he tried to kill himself by jumping off the roof. He wonders if someone would get there in time to stop him, to keep him from jumping. Based on what Neito had said about when he died of that overdose and how Izuku has started to feel the pull of his quirk as he loses consciousness, he’s not really worried about surviving the fall itself. Izuku’s not sure how, exactly, his quirk chooses when he resets and when he doesn’t, but it hasn’t let him fail an attempt, not yet.

Izuku doesn’t want to risk Aizawa seeing him on the roof, though. He doesn’t want to risk getting restrained and hospitalized, getting put in a situation where he can’t reset and he can’t sneak out. Izuku walks to the bathroom quietly, his breathing even and calm. He’s killed himself so many times, for so many reasons, that at this point, it’s almost routine. Izuku can’t tell if he’s excited about it, excited for the thrill that it will give him, or if it’s like a chore, if he wants to just get it over with. 

Either way, Izuku supposes it doesn’t matter. He walks into the bathroom just the same. He steps into the last stall just the same. He latches the door and sits down on the tile floor just the same.

His arms barely sting when he slices them open. The smell of blood is bright and burning. Izuku shuts his eyes, leans his head back against the wall, and thinks.

\--

“Yes?” Aizawa asks, and Izuku swallows. He knows what’s coming next, knows that Aizawa will wipe the chalk dust from his hands, knows that if he asks to go home, he’ll be told no. 

“I-I-I wanted to--to tell you about what happened,” Izuku stammers, shuffling his feet as Aizawa’s gaze sharpens. “Last--last weekend, I mean.” Aizawa doesn’t move to the drawer of his desk, doesn’t pull out a wipe. Instead, he walks from out behind the desk, brushing his hands off on each other as he approaches Izuku.

“What happened?” Aizawa asks, simply. He sits on the desk nearest Izuku, folding his hands together in his lap and giving Izuku his full attention. Izuku swallows under the scrutiny, but at the same time, there’s something nice about being taken seriously. It’s something that only his mom had ever done for him, growing up. He’s never had a teacher like Aizawa, never had a teacher who  _ cared _ what Izuku had to say.

“You know I--that I wasn’t the most p-popular kid in middle school,” Izuku starts, wringing his hands together. “I, um, got b-bullied, of course, but, ah.” He looks up at Aizawa, twisting his face into a grimace. “I-It wasn’t always just--it wasn’t just the--the kids,” he says, his breath hitching in his throat. The thing is, it’s not entirely a lie. Izuku sees Aizawa’s brow furrow, slightly.

“What do you mean?” he asks, something like a warning in his voice, but Izuku doesn’t think it’s directed at him. Izuku swallows.

“I--when I, um, was--when I was--I--” Izuku shakes his head, unable to get the words out. He’s not sure if it’s because he’s going to lie to his teacher or because he’s never told anyone, not even Kacchan or his mom, about the fact that he’s had teachers hold him back after class to tell him that he should stop asking questions in class, that the students with quirks needed that time, that Izuku would end up killing himself before he graduated, anyway. He’s never told anyone about when a teacher slapped him for mumbling about her quirk, when a teacher took his notebooks and refused to give them back. A teacher had never actually  _ hurt  _ him, not like he’s about to imply, but they’d certainly been cruel.

“Midoriya, breathe,” Aizawa says, frowning. “Are you trying to say one of your old teachers hurt you like that?” Izuku looks up at his teacher for a moment, swallows, and nods. 

“He, uh, I-I don’t think that he meant to--to break my wrist,” Izuku says, shifting his feet. “He--he just was holding me, a-and I struggled,” Izuku says, chewing on the skin of his bottom lip. 

“Whether you struggled or not, it’s not your fault,” Aizawa says, a deep crease to his brows and a frown on his lips. “What’s his name?” 

Izuku shakes his head. “I-I don’t want--he’s a good teacher, r-really,” Izuku says, looking at Aizawa’s hands, clenched tight around each other, instead of his face. “It was--he’d only ever been like that to me. I-I think he was mad, about--about me getting into UA.” 

“He’s not a good teacher if he would hurt a former student,” Aizawa says, slowly. “No teacher should ever,  _ ever _ hurt his students.” He pins Izuku with his gaze, sharp with concern. “Do you understand, Midoriya?”

“I-I do,” Izuku says, his voice dull. “I still--I don’t want to get him in trouble,” Izuku says, his voice watery.  _ I’m a terrible person _ , he thinks glumly.  _ Now Aizawa thinks that I’ve had this terrible past, when I really haven’t, not at all. _

Aizawa sighs. “Okay,” he says. “I would like to know who it was, but I’ll let it go, for now.” He meets Izuku’s eyes with his own, dark and bloodshot. “Thank you for telling me, Midoriya. I’m glad that you did.” Izuku nods, shakily.

“C-Can I go home this weekend?” Izuku asks, shuffling his feet. “I-I know where he’ll be, um, so I-I can avoid him,” Izuku says. “I-It won’t happen again.” Aizawa’s eyes narrow slightly, and he hesitates for a moment before answering.

“I’d like you to get your mother’s permission, first,” Aizawa says, “since when she and I spoke last, she didn’t want you going home, either, but if she agrees, then yes.” Izuku blinks, then gives Aizawa a watery smile.

“I-I’ll ask her,” he says. “Thank you, sensei!” Aizawa gives him a nod, and when Izuku skips out of the classroom, he doesn’t even look in the direction of the bathroom.

\--

After everything Izuku has had to do to be allowed to leave campus tomorrow, after the resets and the conversations with Aizawa, after telling his mom that he’d be careful and that he’d be in worse danger if he  _ didn’t _ go, Izuku should be happy to be able to leave. He should be excited, even. He could gain valuable information, information that would save the life of a child, if he does this right. 

Except, Izuku does not feel excited. Izuku doesn’t actually want to go to the Gekkeiju tower, and if he had any sort of choice, he wouldn’t. The thing is, anytime Izuku considers not going, considers telling Aizawa the truth about everything that’s happened so far, considers letting Aizawa keep him safe on campus with his friends and his mom, all Izuku can see is Mouse, small and scared and hurt. He sees the burn-shaped scars on Mouse’s arms, except they’re not scars, they’re fresh, and Fury is holding her tiny arms in a bruising grip, his handprint forming on her skin. 

So Izuku is sitting in his room, sitting on his bed with the door locked and a towel spread in his lap. His biceps are cut to shreds, dripping with crimson-dark blood, and his razor rests on his lap, on the black towel that’s stained dark with blood. The marks from his burns, from two weeks ago, have started to heal, but they’re not all the way closed. The one that had been worse, the lower one, is scabbed up. Izuku knows they would still be visible, as scars, for months at least. There’s not any point in him not cutting himself, not when he’s got no choice but to hide his arms anyway.

Izuku doesn’t bandage the cuts. He doesn’t wipe the blood off of them, doesn’t move the razor or the towel from his lap. He takes out his phone, his eyes half-shut with exhaustion and the cool, empty nothingness that comes with hurting himself. He hovers over his contact list. What he really wants right now is for someone to come and hold him, to draw him tight to their chest and tell him that it’s going to be okay. Izuku could ask for that, if he texted Neito. Neito would come to his room, and he would hold him. But Neito would see the blood and Neito would worry about him. Neito might even pressure him to tell Aizawa, and Izuku doesn’t think he can take that right now.

The same thing would happen, if Izuku told Shinsou, although not  _ exactly _ . Shinsou would catch on to the fact that Izuku is upset, and he’d come over. They live right next door to each other, after all. Izuku hasn’t cleaned up the blood on his arms, hasn’t hidden the towel or the razor. He might be able to hide them, but if Shinsou used his quirk and asked what took Izuku so long, it’d be a disaster. Izuku doesn’t think that Shinsou would use his quirk, not necessarily, but it’s not worth the risk. 

Izuku doesn’t think that Kacchan would be a good choice, either. Not because Kacchan would worry too much, but because he doesn’t do small talk and wouldn’t want to comfort Izuku even if Izuku asked for that. Izuku can’t have comfort in person, not right now, but he wants  _ something _ . Izuku taps on Todoroki’s contact.

_ Hi, Todoroki, _ Izuku sends, leaning back in his bed so that his back is cushioned by his comforter, warm and soft beneath him. Izuku’s phone buzzes almost immediately, and Izuku picks it up with a soft smile.

_ Hello, Midoriya. How are you? _ reads Todoroki’s reply. Izuku settles into the bed, turning on his side. He feels the razor roll off of his lap, onto the bed, but he thinks his arms have coagulated enough that he won’t bleed all over the bed, at least.

_ Been better, but I’m okay, _ Izuku types back.  _ You? _

_ I’m good. What’s wrong?  _ Todoroki replies. Izuku smiles slightly. He feels a little guilty for using Todoroki like this, for making him give Izuku comfort, but at the same time, Izuku thinks he deserves this, at least. 

_ Hard night, _ Izuku replies.  _ Nothing specific. Sometimes it’s just like that, you know? _ He sees the icon that means Todoroki is typing pop up, but it takes longer for a message to send than it usually would. Izuku stares at the icon on the screen, swallowing.  _ Did I say something wrong? _

Izuku shuts his phone off for a moment, setting it down on his bedspread. He grabs the razor from where it’d fallen. He grabs it, picking it up and holding it in his palm. He reaches into the pocket of his pants, pulling out the small pill box he’s started keeping his razor in. It fits perfectly, it won’t cut him by mistake, and it doesn’t look odd, not to anyone who might happen to see it. His phone buzzes as he snaps it shut.

_ Have you been hurting yourself? It’s okay if you don’t want to say. I won’t pressure you. _ Izuku reads Todoroki’s message, blinking. Izuku feels his face turn red as he clenches and unclenches the hand that isn’t holding his phone. As he’s staring at the phone, Todoroki asks another question.

_ Sorry,  _ it reads,  _ I shouldn’t have asked that. You don’t have to tell me anything. _ Izuku takes a deep breath and types a reply.

_ No, it’s okay,  _ he sends.  _ I have. _ There’s a pause, a moment between when Izuku types out the reply and when Todoroki responds.

_ I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to help? _ Izuku can imagine Todoroki’s face as he reads the message, can imagine the way his lips would drop into a frown, his brows creasing over his mismatched eyes.

_ No, it’s okay.  _ Izuku replies.  _ I’m feeling better already. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: self harm, references to child abuse by teachers
> 
> [discord!](https://discord.gg/Vqaj62ceCt)
> 
> i hope you enjoyed!!! sorry for the negativity in the start note, i just really needed to address that bc it's been weighing on me for a while. thank you all for all of your support!! it means the world to me


	63. return to the gekkeiju base

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku tells aizawa the truth as ace, lies to him as izuku, and texts todoroki

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GAMERS first of all i want to say thank you all for all of the support. i was really blown away by the response on this last chapter and i just appreciate you all so much you're so nice to me

The Gekkeiju base is quiet, when Izuku steps through the doors and into the lobby. It feels strange, to be back here in the shirt and slack Miura had given him, with a black duffel bag in one hand. He’d been smart, this time, and had packed an overnight bag along with the report he’d painstakingly prepared. He just hopes he won’t need the change of clothes and the toothbrush in the bag; Izuku would prefer to not spend the night here at all. 

He can see Yamamoto at the front desk, her eyes on the computer screen as always. Izuku wonders about that as he walks up to the desk, his shoes clicking on the marble floor.  _ Maybe it’s some part of her quirk _ , he thinks. She doesn’t look up as he stops in front of her desk.

“Midoriya,” she says, fingers tapping on the keyboard. “Lord Fury is waiting for you.” She hums, moving one hand to the mouse of the keyboard and clicking on something. “Different room this time. Second floor, last office at the end of the hall straight ahead of you.” She types something. “I’m letting him know you’re on your way up,” she says, nodding. Her dark eyes remained pinned to the screen the entire time.

“T-Thank you,” Izuku says, bowing slightly to her. “Um, I was wondering... is your quirk something to do with the computer?” Izuku swallows when she glances up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Y-You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to!” he says, holding his hands up in front of him. Yamamoto turns her gaze back to the computer screen, the edges of her lips quirking up.

“I can see through the lenses of all of the cameras on one system so long as I’m looking at the feed of at least one,” she says, a hint of amusement in her voice. “That’s not the entirety of it, but that’s one aspect of it, yes.” Izuku nods.

“That’s--that’s really cool,” he says, and Yamamoto’s smile widens slightly.

“You should get going, Midoriya,” she says, still watching the screen. “I’ll see you again later, I’m sure.” Izuku nods quickly.

“R-Right, thank you,” he says, turning on his heels and walking quickly towards the elevators. As he approaches them, he feels dread building in his stomach, but there’s nothing he can do to ease that. He can’t tell himself that there’s no danger, because there is. He can’t tell himself that it’ll be okay, because he doesn’t know that it will be. All Izuku can do is take a few deep, steadying breaths as he presses the elevator call button.  _ At least this time, I have the report. _

The elevator opens, the doors whooshing quietly. Izuku starts forward, but he freezes when his eyes meet Mr. Clean’s, where the other man is stepping off of the elevator. His blue eyes are wide for just a second, before he relaxes.

“Hey, kid,” he says, walking past Izuku and into the lobby. “Are you about to go see the boss man?” Izuku nods, his hands shaking where they hold his duffel bag, and Clean laughs, clapping a hand on Izuku’s shoulder that makes him flinch. Clean doesn’t seem to notice.

“Don’t be so nervous,” Clean says, giving Izuku a smile. “He’s in a good mood right now,” he says, before he turns and walks past Izuku, back out into the main lobby. Izuku wants to ask him what he means by that, what on  _ earth _ that means for Izuku, but the elevator doors start to shut. Izuku darts forward, sticking a hand in between the elevator doors to stop them from closing, and by the time they’re opening up again and he looks over his shoulder, Clean is out of sight.

Izuku sighs to himself and steps onto the elevator. The smooth, polished surface of everything makes his heart pound in his chest and his breath quicken slightly. He steels himself, pressing his eyes closed and telling himself that it’s only to the second floor. He’ll be alright. 

The elevator chimes, and the door is opening quickly enough. Izuku resists the urge to run out of it. It’s kind of dumb, really, that elevators of all things make him nervous. It’s not like anything bad happens to him on the elevator; the bad part comes after. 

The second floor is nearly identical to the third, with three hallways branching away from the elevators, one to each side and one straight in front of him. He can see the windows at the end of each hallway, showing the bright, sunny day outside. Izuku swallows around the lump in his throat and walks forward, down the hallway directly in front of him. 

He can hear the sounds of a television coming from this part of the building, but it’s muffled and faint. Izuku thinks that it must be in one of the first few doors in the hallway, because when he steps further down the hall, closer to the window, it grows fainter and fainter until he can’t hear it at all. He comes to the last door, which is on the right side of the hall, and he pauses in front of it. It’s plain looking, just like the door from last time, and it doesn’t offer Izuku any hints or any warnings about what will happen once he goes inside. 

Izuku knocks on the door gently, the knuckles of his index and middle finger rapping against the wood twice. He hears a rustle from inside.

“Come in, Izuku,” Fury says, his voice clear and loud even through the door. Izuku swallows, turning the knob and pulling the door open. 

The room inside is small, and it’s set up more like an actual office than the last room. Fury is sitting in a large, red-brown leather office chair, turned to face the door. Behind him, there’s three large computer monitors, their screens black. There’s a mouse and keyboard on the table in front of them, all high quality and plain, without any logos or colors. There’s a stack of manila folders on the other end of the rich, dark wooden table. Beside the door, there’s another chair, a straight-backed, wooden chair the same color as the table except for the blue cushion on the seat and back. Izuku swallows. Fury is dressed in a dark grey suit, his blazer unbuttoned to show the dark red button down underneath. 

“Have a seat,” Fury says, waving to the chair. “And shut the door behind you.” He rolls back in his chair slightly, giving Izuku a little more space. Izuku’s grateful; when he tugs the door shut behind him and carefully sits in the chair, his duffel bag at his feet, there’s still only about three feet between his feet and Fury’s. 

“I’ve been looking forward to this,” Fury says, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers together, his elbows resting on the chair’s arm rests. “I really hope that you’ve got some information for me, this time.” He does look to be in somewhat of a better mood than usual; his face is relaxed behind his shade in a way Izuku isn’t used to. Izuku nods, leaning down to unzip the duffel bag.

“I-I got the information,” he says, taking out the sheets of his report and passing them to Fury. “Sorry--sorry that they’re handwritten,” he says as Fury takes the sheets of paper, eyeing them carefully. “I didn’t want to leave a trail on a computer.” Fury holds the papers in front of him, thumbing through them slowly. Izuku feels his heart beating fast in his chest, and he wonders if it’s loud enough for Fury to hear it, too. 

After what feels like an eternity, Fury breathes out, lowering the papers onto his lap. There’s a slight upward turn to his lips, the faintest hint of an approving smile, and Izuku feels both relief and a sharp shot of apprehension as Fury meets his eyes through the sunglasses.

“This is good work, Izuku,” he says, his mismatched eyes half lidded. “Good job.” Izuku swallows as Fury rests the stack of papers on his lap, then turns his chair around so he’s facing the desk. He takes a manila folder, one with a few pieces of paper in it already, and he opens it, sliding Izuku’s papers inside.

“I do hope you were careful not to leave any traces of your break-in,” Fury says as he sets the folder back down on the stack, turning to look at Izuku. “We’re trying to keep a very tight lid on information about our operations. Having the heroes know what we’re up to would be inconvenient for us, that’s for sure.” He crosses one leg over the other, knitting his fingers together and resting them atop his top knee. 

“I-I was careful,” Izuku says, his voice coming out almost as a squeak. “There’s--there’s no way that they would catch me,” he swallows, “sir.” Fury nods, an approving gleam in his eye.

“Good,” he says, his voice almost a purr. “Now, roll up your sleeves,” he says, tipping his head to the side ever-so-slightly. Izuku balances, blinking.

“I-I-I got the--I g-got the information,” he says, leaning back slightly, away from Fury. He feels his hands clench into fists in the fabric of his slacks, and he knows he’s wrinkling them, but he can’t get himself to relax. Across from him, Fury raises an eyebrow, a slight smile on his face.

“Oh, Izuku, I’m not going to  _ punish _ you,” Fury says, his voice sweet and smooth. “I just want to see how your burns are healing. I told you, we take care of our members.” He nods. “Now, roll up your sleeve. Just the injured arm is fine.” 

Izuku stares back at him, swallowing. He’d known, on some level, that he’d have no choice but to show Fury his arms at some point, but he’s not sure he’s ready for someone to see what he’d done to his biceps. Even now, under the white dress shirt, the scabs on his arms feel fresh and raw, like they could start bleeding at any moment. Izuku thinks they probably could. He’d cut last night, after all. 

He takes a deep breath and starts to roll up the sleeve of his left arm with shaking, cold fingers. He fumbles with the button of the nice, formal shirt, his fingers trembling and losing their grip. He presses his lips into a line, trying to will himself to calm down, but it doesn’t work. Fury clicks his tongue at him, rolling forward in his chair, and Izuku flinches when Fury’s hand grabs the wrist of his left hand, his touch light and gentle but still every bit as terrifying. Izuku watches his arm instead of Fury, watches as Fury carefully unbuttons and rolls up Izuku sleeve, past the white, fading scars on his forearm and past the start of the cuts. 

Fury lets out a small, quiet breath when the first cut shows, a dark red line in Izuku’s skin. He pulls the sleeve up quickly, exposing the rest of Izuku’s cuts to the light. There’s a lot of them, enough that Izuku feels embarrassed for someone to see them, fresh ones criss crossed over older, scabbed-up ones. His freshest cuts are between the lines the older ones make, and they’re dark red, rimmed with violet bruising. Some of them are a little deeper than normal, with red seeping out from between the edges of the wounds. Izuku swallows as Fury traces his fingers along Izuku’s arms, lifting them up and looking at them. Izuku can see the red blood smeared on his pale fingertips.

“I have to say, I wasn’t expecting this,” Fury says, a murmur as he rubs his fingers together. Izuku glances up at him, sees the slight crease to Fury’s brows. He wonders, briefly, if Fury is  _ worried _ about him. 

“S-Sorry,” Izuku says, swallowing. Fury hums, releasing Izuku’s arm.

“I don’t think it matters much if the scar heals well,” Fury says, something like amusement in his voice. “You should really try better to keep your wounds clean.” He turns to his table, clicking his tongue and opening a drawer under the edge. He pulls out a small box, red and white with English words on the cover. Izuku thinks that it says  _ first aid _ , but he isn’t sure.

“R-Right,” Izuku says, quietly. Fury takes out an alcohol wipe, ripping it open. He uses it to wipe his hands off, much like the last time. Izuku swallows.

“You did really good this time, Izuku,” Fury says, tossing the used alcohol wipe into a small garbage can under the desk. “Do you want me to make this easier on you? I know that it can really hurt, while a wound is getting cleaned. Especially with this many of them, with so much dried blood.” Fury clicks his tongue, turning and grabbing another alcohol wipe from the first aid kit. Izuku blinks.

“U-Um, what does that--what do you mean?” Izuku asks, biting at his lower lip. “How are you going to make--make it easier on me?” Fury looks up at him as he tears the packet open, an upturn to his lip as he meets Izuku’s eyes. 

“I could use my quirk,” Fury says, lightly, like it doesn’t mean anything. He presses the alcohol wipe to the bottom of Izuku’s bicep, and Izuku swallows at the swell of pain in his arm, bright and sharp. 

“Oh,” Izuku says. “H-Heaven?” he asks, pointlessly. Fury chuckles.

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to hurt you,” he says, pressing the alcohol wipe to Izuku’s skin more firmly. “I’d only hurt you if you needed it.” Izuku resists the urge to squirm, watching as a small amount of red seeps through the white of the alcohol wipe. 

“O-Okay,” Izuku says, swallowing, because as much as he knows it’s stupid and a bad decision and exactly what Fury wants, he wants it, too. Something about spending this time relaxed and comfortable and feeling  _ good  _ instead of spending it nervous and on edge and in pain is irresistible. 

“I think that’s the right decision,” Fury says, and then he pulls away from Izuku for a moment. His eyes slide shut, and he pulls off his glasses, setting them behind him, on the table beside the keyboard. Izuku feels his heartbeat pick up in anticipation, his mouth suddenly dry. 

“You ready?” Fury asks, his voice light, playful. Izuku nods, then remembers Fury’s eyes are shut.

“Y-Yeah,” he says, quietly, and Fury opens his eyes. Izuku meets his golden gaze, and he feels a tidal wave of soft, gentle comfort was over him, a euphoria that makes everything else fade away.

Izuku isn’t sure how much time passes, with his eyes meeting Fury’s gold one, with his vision blurring and the world melting away around him. Izuku can feel the thump of his heart in his throat, quick and heavy and thick. He can feel the pull of the air in and out of his lungs, and it feels heavier, more  _ full _ than normal. His skin tingles, like something’s crawling over it, but it isn’t unpleasant. It feels almost like someone is dragging their fingers along his skin, like goosebumps blooming on his flesh. Izuku can feel Fury cleaning and dressing his wounds, can feel him roll up the sleeve on Izuku’s other arm, but Izuku doesn’t mind it. It feels distant, barely there at all under the thrum and glow of Fury’s quirk.

Fury says something to Izuku, his lips moving in the shapes of words, but the words don’t reach Izuku’s ears. Izuku stares dumbly back at him, and the next moment, Fury is closing his eyes. Izuku feels the world start to come back almost immediately, a heavy weight that soaks into him and drags him down. Izuku feels an unbearable, burning pain in his arms as feeling comes back to them, and then he’s going limp, sliding out of the chair. He feels Fury catch him, and then nothing at all.

\--

Izuku opens his eyes to a high ceiling, one with fancy, dangling lights. He blinks his eyes a couple of times, then pulls himself upright, into a sitting position. He’s strangely dizzy, his head feeling like it’s full of cotton and fog, but he can feel the texture of fabric rough beneath his hands. He swallows, blinking, and looks around. He’s on the first floor, in the sitting area by the TV, on one of the cream colored couches there. There’s a thin blanket laid over him, and sitting on the couch across from him is Fury, arms on the back of the couch cushions and his body turned toward the TV. His head is turned towards Izuku, though, with his sunglasses back on.

“Sleep well?” Fury asks, amusement in his voice. “You really don’t handle this side of my quirk very well, you know. Usually people aren’t quite so affected by the come down. It makes it fun to use on you,” He tips his head slightly to the side, as if examining Izuku. Izuku swallows, glancing down at his arms. The sleeves have been rolled back down, but when he reaches up a hand to press to his biceps, he can feel some kind of gauze underneath the fabric of the dress shirt. The wounds ache sharply. 

All of Izuku aches, actually. From a bloom of dull pain at the base of his spine to a dry, searing pain in his lungs with every breath. His head is throbbing as the fog of sleep starts to fade, and his fingers prickle uncomfortably any time he touches them to anything. There’s a sort of heavy nausea in Izuku’s gut, the kind where he knows he won’t throw up, but he feels awful anyway. He flexes and unflexes his hands, looking for some outward sign of the pain he feels, but there isn’t any there.

“Oi,” Fury says, voice thick with annoyance. “I asked you a question.” Izuku snaps his head up, looking at Fury, who glowers at him through his sunglasses. 

“S-Sorry,” Izuku says, his voice rough. Fury’s eyes narrow.

“Do you even remember what I asked?” Fury asks, moving his arms to fold them in front of his chest. “God, you’re so fucking useless. I’m nice to you, I take care of you, and this is what you do?” Fury shakes his head, then stands up from the couch, taking a few steps towards Izuku. Izuku blinks, his eyes opening wide with alarm, and he scrambles back along the couch, trying to get further away from Fury.

“I-I’m really sorry,” Izuku says, his voice thick with panic. “I-I’m s-sorry, sir, it--it won’t--it won’t happen again,” he stammers, but Fury just growls under his breath, reaching a hand out and wrapping it around Izuku’s neck. 

“Sorry’s not good enough,” Fury says, voice low and dark. “I don’t believe that shit. You have to prove yourself with your actions,” he says, his hands starting to squeeze Izuku’s neck. For a panicked moment, Izuku wonders how exactly he’s supposed to prove that he’s sorry for such a tiny mistake, how he’s supposed to stop himself from even messing up, but he remembers something else and it interrupts his thoughts.

“I-I can’t--can’t have--can’t leave marks,” Izuku wheezes, and Fury’s eyes narrow. “They’re--they’re gonna be s-s-suspicious,” Izuku says, and he gasps with relief when Fury releases his neck. 

“That stutter is so fucking obnoxious,” Fury sneers. “I can’t leave any marks, huh?” He clicks his tongue reaching his hand back down and grabbing Izuku by the collar of his shirt. “I guess you leave me no choice. I’d really thought you might have learned, but here you are, making demands and shaking when I’m not even  _ doing _ anything,” Fury says, gesturing his free hand at Izuku’s body, which trembles and quivers. He reaches his hand up with a sigh, grabbing his sunglasses and tugging them up, into his red hair. He opens his eyes.

For a moment, Izuku expects Heaven. He expects a rush of euphoria, a hit of calm that soaks into him, but what he feels instead is a familiar, heavy glow of pain that starts from the bones at his temples and around his eyes. He’s staring into Fury’s eye, golden and sunburst-patterned, for just a moment, and then every fiber of his being is filled with terrible, heavy pain. Izuku’s vision whites out as he feels like his limbs are dipped in flame, like his insides have been filled with thick, molten lead, glowing and slow moving and hot. Izuku feels himself collapse down onto the couch, but all he knows is pain.

Fury’s quirk is over quickly, before Izuku even has time to form the thought that he wants it to be over. He can hear his own gasping, weak breaths, can feel the too-rough fabric of the couch under his cheek, can feel the twitching and shaking of his limbs, his nerves popping with tiny bursts of lightning-sharp pain. Izuku moans, his voice shaky and laden with pain, and he hears Fury laugh in return. It’s a cackling, growing laugh, something unhinged and too loud. Izuku wants to cover his ears, wants to plug them up, but he can’t get his arms to move. He lies there on the couch, listening to Fury laugh, until he hears a cool, low voice.

“Kazuo,” Miura says, and Izuku can just barely make out her form through his blurry eyes. “What are you doing?” Her voice is accusatory, almost, but not enough for Izuku to be sure if he’d really heard that, or if he’d just imagined it. 

“Punishing the insolent little brat,” Fury answers, laughter still in his voice. “He doesn’t want me leaving marks. Can you believe it, that he thought it’d be a good idea to  _ ask _ not to mark him up? What an entitled little shit. He deserved it, Sumire.” Fury giggles, the sound low and dark and sending chills up Izuku’s spine, even though he can’t move. 

“I doubt that this warranted your quirk,” Miura says, her voice flat and annoyed. “You used Heaven on him too, didn’t you? Are you trying to ruin him?” She sighs, and Izuku feels a gentle touch brush against his forehead. He flinches away from the touch, and he can see Miura jerk her hand back, like Aizawa had that one time Izuku had flinched away from his touch. 

“Kid can see the future, he should have known better,” Fury pouts, turning around so his back is facing them. “Whatever. He’s your problem, anyway. Go tuck him in, or whatever.” Fury stalks away, his footsteps echoing slightly in the open space of the first floor. Izuku hears Miura sigh, and then he feels the seat of the couch dip down beside his head.

“I’m sorry about him,” Miura says, and Izuku feels her hand slowly, gingerly come down on top of his head, resting on top of his curls. “He’s... well.” She sighs. “He’s horrible.” Her fingers move through his hair, slowly. Izuku takes a slow breath. The pain is starting to become tolerable, even though it isn’t really fading.

“Yeah,” Izuku replies, quietly, and he sees Miura look down at him, her brow creasing.

“You’re coherent,” she says, a hint of surprise in her voice. “How many times has he used Hell on you? You shouldn’t be able to speak so soon.” There’s a bruise on the underside of her jaw, and another, shaped like a hand, on her neck. Izuku recognizes the size and shape of Fury’s hand.

“The times I saw in the future still count for my tolerance, I think,” Izuku says, his voice slow and hesitant but clear. “Does--does he hurt you, t-too?” Izuku asks. He carefully pulls himself upward, into a sitting position. Miura is staring at him, a wide-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights look on her face.

“I--” She shakes her head, low pigtails whipping with the motion. “The situation is different, with me,” she says, meeting Izuku’s eyes. There’s a kind of fire in her eyes that Izuku hasn’t seen there before, for just a moment, and then she sighs. “Do you want to see Mouse?” she asks, quietly, and Izuku blinks, sitting more upright.

“C-Can I?” he asks, not even bothering to suppress the excitement in his voice. Miura nods, a small motion, and she pulls her hands into her lap.

“If you’re with me, it shouldn’t be an issue,” she says. “If you ever were to visit her without me, Manami, or Kazuo, you would be punished if you were caught on the cameras.” Izuku stares back at her.  _ Is she... warning me about the cameras? _

“R-Right,” Izuku says, and he watches as Miura stands up from the couch, sighing and brushing off the front of her pants. She’s wearing a pair of denim capris that reach down to her mid-calves and a neat, white house. Izuku realizes that she must have just come from the hardware store--she’s even wearing her glasses and a pair of beat-up violet converse. 

“Come on,” she says, turning and walking towards where Izuku knows the elevators that lead to the basement are. Izuku gets to his feet carefully, then follows after her. He doesn’t miss the way she looks back over her shoulder with a sharp gaze, checking to see if he’s able to walk. His legs feel like jelly, and every step sends a burst of bright, hot pain through his bones and up his spine, but Izuku manages. He’s been in worse pain from own quirk before, though that wasn’t spread quite so evenly throughout his entire body like this is. 

Miura leads him to the elevators, pressing the call button before Izuku is even there. By the time he walks over to the elevators, on shaky legs, the doors are sliding open. Izuku feels the familiar pang of fear when he steps through the doors, onto the basement elevator with its cracked, old floors and the metal walls. Izuku counts in his head, doing the square breathing exercise that Aizawa had taught him ages ago. Izuku can’t tell if it helps or if it just distracts him, but soon enough, the doors are opening to the lowest floor of the basement. 

Seeing the familiar, cream-colored walls, the thick layered paint over the brick, sends a shot of adrenaline through Izuku’s veins, and his hands shake at his sides as he lets Miura lead him down the hallway, towards where he knows Mouse’s room is. Izuku can hear their footsteps on the dirty linoleum floor, and as they walk further and further down the hallway, he can hear muffled singing. It grows louder as they progress, a clear, female voice singing something that Izuku can’t understand the words of. After a moment of listening, Izuku thinks it might not be in Japanese at all. 

“Who is that?” Izuku asks, quietly. Miura turns her head back, a slight grimace on her face. 

“That’s... that’s Avenging Angel,” Miura says, her voice low and dark. “Kazuo, he’s been isolating her,” she continues, sighing. “She’s started to sing. I think it’s to keep herself sane.” Izuku blinks, watching the look of pain on Miura’s face. 

“What language is that?” Izuku asks, instead of asking why she’s being kept alone, why she’s being punished. Why they want her in the first place.

“Her--” Miura swallows. “She speaks Korean. It’s probably that,” Miura says, turning her head to the side slightly. “We’re here.” Miura stops in front of the door with the child’s drawing on it, the crayon version of Sasaki, Fury, Manami, and Miura all together with the tiny drawing of Mouse. Izuku swallows as Miura pulls out a keychain from her pocket, sliding a key into the door and turning the knob. 

“Mousey?” she calls, her voice gentle and quiet. “It’s Sumire and--” Izuku takes a step forward. 

“A-And Izuku,” Izuku says, his voice quivering slightly. Miura pushes the door open the rest of the way, letting Izuku see into the room. Everything is laid out the same, with the mattress in the corner of the room covered in filthy sheets. The desk, with crayons strewn across them and the floor, coated in a thin layer of soot. Izuku trails behind Miura as she walks into the room. Mouse is sitting on the floor, a crayon in one hand and a bottle of water in the other hand. The bottle is empty, the plastic half melted where her tiny little hand is wrapped around it, the bottle streaked with ash. She squeezes it as she looks up at them, her eyes dark. 

“Hi,” she says, her voice small and shy. “Hi Sumire. Hi Izuku,” She sets the crayon down on the floor, reaching over and picking up the water bottle with the other hand, holding it in front of her with both hands, squeezing it. The plastic crinkles, the sound filling the room. Izuku watches as she squeezes it again, her hands crunching and uncrunching the bottle, over and over again.

“Hi, Mouse,” Izuku says, quietly. He feels something swell in his chest as he steps further into the room, letting Miura shut the door behind them. He takes a few steps over to Mouse, crouching down in front of her. She looks up at him as he does, her hands still massaging the empty water bottle. Izuku is struck by how  _ thin _ she is, how tiny her arms are, practically just bone. Her head looks too large on her body, more than it is for the other kids around her age. Up close like this, Izuku can see a dark tint to the skin on her hands. He wonders if it’s soot, if her hands are so dirty that they look that dark, or if it’s part of her quirk. 

“Izuku is okay,” Mouse says, her tiny voice insistent. Izuku knows that she’s asking a question, in the only way she knows how.

“I’m okay, yeah,” Izuku says, a small smile creeping over his face. “How are you doing?” Mouse squeezes the water bottle, and it crackles, loud and sharp.

“Mouse is good!” Mouse chirps, beaming up at him. She doesn’t really  _ smile _ , exactly, but her face opens up some, her lips moving like she might be trying to. “Sumire got me this,” she says, holding the bottle up with both of her grubby little hands. “I like them, but they break when I play with them.” Her fingers flex on the bottle, and Izuku can see the warp of the bottle, the way the plastic has melted. 

“You melted it?” Izuku asks. He glances back slightly, to see Miura standing in the back of the room, giving them space. 

“Uhuh!” Mouse says, nodding. She stares at him, her gaze serious. “Mouse breaks things. Mouse is dangerous.” She looks up at him, holding the bottle up and giving it a little shake. “Mouse doesn’t break, though. I don’t break.” She lowers the bottle, watching Izuku with her huge, wet eyes. 

“You don’t break,” Izuku echoes, his voice quiet. He wishes that he didn’t know what that meant. He wishes that her words didn’t bring back memories of listening in on a conversation between Miura and Clean, months ago. Wishes that he didn’t remember Miura saying  _ Kazuo got to her _ and Clean saying that she  _ wouldn’t last long _ like that. Izuku wishes that she wasn’t in this situation in the first place, but even though it hurts, Izuku is glad that he knows.  _ I’m going to get you out of here, _ he thinks.  _ I’m going to get you out of here, and this will all be worth it. _

“Midoriya,” Miura says, quietly. “Wrap it up, okay? We shouldn’t spend too much time with her, or she could get in trouble.” Izuku swallows, nodding.

“Okay,” he says, his voice soft. “I’ve got to go now, Mouse.” Mouse stares up at him. She nods, her little head bobbing.

“Okay.” she echoes. “Izuku comes back when,” she says, her voice flat, the sentence ending short, like she’s realizing how close she is to a question.

“I’ll come back when I can,” Izuku promises. “I’ll try to bring you a bottle,” he says, gesturing to the plastic water bottle. She crinkles it in her hands as she nods at him. Izuku stands up slowly, backing away from her. Mouse watches him as he walks back toward the door, as Miura opens it for him and steps out first. Izuku glances back at Mouse one last time before they step back into the hallway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: torture, abuse/manipulation, nausea, description of self harm wounds
> 
> [discord!](https://discord.gg/seuCkscYSY)
> 
> thank you all so much again!!!! we're getting into a juicy bit soon :3c


	64. cookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku gets tortured round two but he gets to see mouse so it's all okay!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GAMERS i almost didn't update today to give myself a break but it turns out all i want to do during a "break" is to write blnt so uh

When Izuku walks up to the campus gate, it’s a cool and sunny morning. He’d gone home last night, slept in his own bed and eaten dinner made by his mom, but the evening had passed in a blur. His mom had doted over him in the morning, asking over and over again if he wanted her to come with him to school even though Sundays are her days off. Izuku had told her he was fine, that he’d stay fine if he was alone. He is fine, of course, the pain from yesterday having faded to a dull, echoing ache in his muscles and bones, like he’d worked out too hard or like he’s recovering from a cold. It’s easy to deal with, compared to the drawbacks of Izuku’s own quirk. 

Izuku walks towards the gate, the breeze blowing through his curls. He squints his eyes as a figure with blonde hair enters his view, just as he passes through the gate. After just a moment, just a few more steps forward, Izuku recognizes Neito, wearing a loose sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. Izuku blinks, jogging forward to meet his friend, who walks towards him with his hands in his pockets.

“Neito!” Izuku calls, a smile splitting his face. “What are you doing here?” Neito gives him a sly smile, turning to face the same direction as Izuku, walking alongside him as Izuku heads towards the dorm building.

“I came to see you,” Neito says, glancing at Izuku through the sides of his eyes. “How was your weekend?”

“It was good!” Izuku says, “My mom made katsudon last night, and I went to bed early last night.” It’s true--Izuku had swallowed down the bowl of katsudon and gone straight to sleep. Neito doesn’t need to know that Izuku had been shaky and in pain, that the whole time his mother had asked him over and over again if he was okay, asked him what had happened. 

“That sounds nice,” Neito says, humming. “Kendou and I baked cookies for our class. Pony gave us her recipe.” Izuku blinks, looking at him.

“You can bake?” Izuku asks, surprised. Neito smirks at him, flipping his blonde hair out of his face. His bangs are getting kind of long; Izuku wonders if he’ll get a haircut soon.

“I can do many, many things, Izuku,” Neito says, wiggling his eyebrows. “I’m really just made of surprises.” Izuku giggles, leaning into Neito to bump their shoulders together. Neito smirks at him, looking down the short distance to Izuku’s face.

“Can I have one?” Izuku asks, giving Neito his best, widest smile. Neito raises an eyebrow at him, then pulls one hand out of his pocket, producing a ziploc bag with two small chocolate chip cookies in it.

“Why else would I have told you about them?” Neito asks, offering the baggie to Izuku. Izuku reaches out and takes it, smiling.

“Thanks, Neito,” he says, holding the bag to his chest. “You’re an awesome friend.” Neito tips his head back, laughing.

“Izuku, it’s just cookies,” he says, his voice slightly puzzled. Izuku shrugs, tucking the cookies into the pocket of his hoodie.

“I know,” Izuku says, glancing down at the ground. “You’ve done a lot more for me than just this, though.” He hears Neito hum beside him.

“Yeah, well. You saved my life,” Neito says, shrugging when Izuku looks up at him. “Plus, you’re fun to play cards with.” Izuku grins, and even though the smile Neito gives him in return doesn’t erase the pain in his limbs or the exhaustion in his bones, it makes his chest feel a little lighter.

\--

Izuku opens the door to his dorm room closet, the soft sound of the sliding door rumbling on its tracks filling his ears. He swallows, reaching down into the cardboard box next to the entryway. It’s full of neatly folded winter clothes, but Izuku slips his hand underneath the top two sweaters and fishes out his burner phone, tucked neatly underneath. He takes it out and cradles it in his hands, holding his finger to the power button until the phone buzzes, the screen glowing to life when he flips it open.

It takes a few minutes for the loading screen to turn off, for the home screen of the phone to come on. Izuku taps on the phone a few times, opening up his messages. There’s one unread message from Miura, and Izuku takes a slow breath before he clicks it open. 

_ Mission this week, _ the message starts.  _ Shinsuke Uegaki and Ayano Takasugi. Investigate their homes, families, and who interacts with them. Report back in a week. Prioritize Uegaki if you can only complete one. _

Izuku types back a quick,  _ Understood _ , and turns the phone off with shaking hands. He slips it back under his sweaters, slides the door to the closet shut, and clenches his hands into fists.  _ They’re just kids,  _ he thinks.  _ They’re just kids, and they want me to find out who sees them. Who will miss them, if they’re taken. _

Izuku swallows once, twice, and then he’s all but running out of the room, his fingers shaking violently as he tries to undo the lock. Izuku can feel his breath coming quick and short in his throat as he turns it over. Izuku runs down the hallway, his socked feet slipping slightly on the ground as he tries to make it to the bathroom. He runs to the end of the hallway and down the stairs, his hand gripping the rail tightly. As he runs down the stairs, he vaguely remembers that there was a bathroom on the second floor, too, but Izuku doesn’t have time to turn back. He sprints across the short space from the staircase to the bathroom, ignoring the sound of someone calling his name in favor of slamming open the door to the bathroom and throwing himself into the first stall. He barely makes it to the toilet before he’s heaving into the bowl.

Izuku squeezes his eyes shut, feeling pressure built behind his eyes as he starts to cry, hot tears running down his face. He retches again, his head full of the knowledge that he’s going to have to do this--that he’s going to have to give the Gekkeiju information that might end with one of these two kids being captured or killed. His fingers squeeze into the cold porcelain of the toilet seat, and then he feels a warm hand come down on his shoulder, and he flinches away, hard. The hand pulls back, and Izuku turns to see Todoroki staring down at him, his eyebrows furrowed above his eyes. 

“Midoriya?” Todoroki asks, his voice quiet and thick with worry. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?” Izuku swallows, shaking his head and leaning back, away from the toilet. He sits back with his head resting against the wall of the stalls, his eyes sliding shut. He hears the toilet shut.

“Oi, Icyhot!” Izuku opens his eyes again, surprised to see Kacchan burst into the bathroom, his red eyes blazing and his lips in a scowl. “What the fuck are you--” he cuts himself off, his eyes widening. Izuku imagines that he must look like a mess, right now. His breathing is still too fast, too uneven, and he can feel his heart pounding in his throat. He feels cold and sweaty all at once, his head throbbing from having thrown up.

“Midoriya’s sick,” Todoroki says, quietly, and Izuku shakes his head again.

“N-No, I’m not,” Izuku says, his voice rough from throwing up. “I-I’m--I’m just--” he swallows, squeezing his eyes shut. He has no right to be upset, no right to tell Kacchan or Todoroki  _ anything _ . He’s the one who put himself in this position. He’s the one who’s responsible for anything that happens to these kids. 

“Breathe, you idiot,” Kacchan says, his voice harsh but quiet, and Izuku nods, swallowing as he sucks in a breath. 

“Has this happened to him before?” Todoroki asks, his voice a quiet murmur. Izuku hears a grunt from Kacchan.

“Yeah, but I never fuckin’ dealt with it,” Kacchan says. “He always went to the damn bathroom or something. Teachers didn’t care.” Izuku hears his breath stutter, again, as Kacchan mentions his teachers, mentions the way that when Izuku panicked in middle school, when his breath rose in his throat and his heart got crushed between his lungs, that nobody would help him. He’d excuse himself to be alone, he’d cry it out, his head pounding thick with adrenaline and fear, and then he’d return to class to get scolded for being gone so long. 

“Midoriya,” Todoroki’s voice says, soothing and calm and right in front of Izuku’s face. “Take deep breaths. You’re okay.” Izuku opens his eyes to see Todoroki crouched in front of him, a frown on his face, and Kacchan leaning against the wall opposite Izuku. In such a small space, the three of them are practically touching. 

“Here,” Kacchan says gruffly, leaning over to tug on the toilet paper in the dispenser. He pulls off a length, folds it over twice, and sticks his hand out. Izuku blinks at it, and Kacchan huffs, rolling his eyes.

“Wipe off your damn face,” Kacchan says, his eyes narrowed at Izuku. “Can’t feel nice, having fucking puke on your chin.” Izuku takes the folded paper with a nod, wiping off his face as another sob tears through him. He feels pathetic. He’s on the floor of a bathroom, crying about something he did to himself, and his friends have to help him remember how to  _ breathe _ . 

“What happened?” Todoroki asks, his voice soft. His eyes meet Izuuku’s wide and open. Izuku looks away.

“I-It’s nothing,” he says, his voice cracking. “I-I just--I just got upset.” He doesn’t miss the way Todoroki and Kacchan exchange a glance, Kacchan’s brows furrowing and Todoroki’s lips pressing together. 

“Doesn’t fucking  _ look _ like nothing,” Kacchan mutters from his place leaned against the wall. “Do I need to kill someone?” His eyes narrow, and Izuku shakes his head.

“N-No, it’s just me,” Izuku says. His words are rushed and quick, though, and he can see worry flash in Todoroki’s eyes.

“Midoriya, is there anything we can do to help?” Todoroki asks, quietly. Izuku sees Todoroki’s eyes flicker down to Izuku’s arms, and he knows what Todoroki’s  _ really _ asking. Izuku shakes his head. He can already feel his breathing calming down, just with the distraction of the two of them talking to him.

“I-I think I just need to rest,” Izuku whispers, and he hears a grumble from Kacchan.

“If you’re actually sick again, you’d better fucking tell us, Deku,” Kacchan says, pulling himself away from the wall. “I don’t want your dumb ass to pass out in training again.” Izuku blinks as Kacchan moves in front of him, still standing. Todoroki tips his head up to look at Kacchan as Kacchan offers Izuku a hand. Izuku takes it, and Kacchan helps haul him to his feet.

“I-I’m not sick,” Izuku says, trying to make his voice as firm as possible. “I promised Aizawa-sensei that I’d--that I’d tell him, next time,” he says, swallowing as Todoroki rises, too, gently setting a steadying hand on Izuku’s shoulder. Izuku knows he’s swaying, slightly, but between Kacchan and Todoroki, he stands without too much trouble.

“I believe you,” Todoroki says, nodding, and Kacchan clicks his tongue.

“Whatever. Let’s get your dumb ass to the couch,” he says. Izuku frowns.

“I-I really just want to go to bed,” he says, biting at his lower lip. Kacchan raises an eyebrow.

“You haven’t had dinner yet, idiot,” he says, his voice firm. “And I’m not gonna fucking leave you alone after a panic attack.”

“It wasn’t a--” Izuku starts, but Todoroki cuts him off.

“It was,” he says, his voice nearly as firm as Kacchan’s. “I agree with Bakugou. You should rest in the common area for at least a couple of hours. Then, you can go to bed.” Izuku bites the inside of his cheek, moving his gaze between Todoroki and Kacchan for a moment before replying.

“Okay,” he says, softly. His friends lead him carefully out of the bathroom and onto the soft, plush couch of the common area. The green fabric and plush cushions are nothing like the couch at the Gekkeiju base, and Izuku falls asleep within minutes.

\--

Izuku makes use of Aizawa’s request for Ace to text him one night when he’s on patrol, sitting atop a fenced-in rooftop with a pretty garden and a sitting area. Izuku thinks that it might actually be illegal for him to be here, since it’s probably trespassing or something, but it’s really nice to sit on the ground beside the raised garden bed, his back leaned up against the cool brick enclosing the dirt and plants. There’s a hum of insects, the soft, earthy scent of wet soil, and a powdery, floral smell coming from the white coneflowers in the garden just behind him, mixed with the sharp clean scent of mint and sage. Izuku takes in the scent, letting it wash over him with the dampness of the September air, and then he flips open his burner phone.

The light from the screen washes over him, the white light bright enough to make him squint even through the goggles. He types Aizawa’s number into his contacts, saving him as just  _ A _ . He’ll just reset if the Gekkeiju decide to search the phone. He types out one message first.

_ Hey Eraser, this is Ace. Not an emergency, but I have info for you. _ He reads it over twice, then sends the message. This phone doesn’t have the capability to tell him when a message has been opened or not, so he doesn’t know if Aizawa is even on. He snaps the phone shut and leans back against the flowerbed again. He’s only barely setting his head against the brick before his phone buzzes. He blinks, picking it up and flipping it open, still leaned back. His hoodie cushions his head from the rough brick, anyway.

_ Didn’t expect you to contact me,  _ Aizawa’s message reads.  _ Pleasantly surprised. What’s your status? _ Izuku blinks, rereading the message just as another one comes in.

_ Sorry, forgot you haven’t had formal training. Are you okay? _ Aizawa’s next message reads. Izuku relaxes, slightly. They don’t go over status reports until next semester, when they take Communications in Heroism, and even if Izuku had had that training, Ace, isn’t supposed to.

_ Doing fine, not in danger or injured. _ Izuku replies.  _ I know two potential targets for the Gekkeiju. You have to be subtle though, there are consequences for me if they know I leaked the info. _ Izuku sends the message, swallowing around the dryness in his mouth. There’s a moment’s pause, and then Aizawa replies.

_ I’ll make sure it’s subtle, _ Aizawa replies.  _ Who are they? _

_ Shinsuke Uegaki and Ayano Takasugi _ , Izuku replies.  _ Quirks are Memory Projection and Soothing Touch respectively. Both live within the city. _ Izuku’s hands shake, his thumbs trembling over the buttons of the phone as he waits for a reply.

_ Thanks, kid. You might have just saved two lives _ , Aizawa’s reply reads. Izuku’s heart clenches in his chest.

_ It’s my fault they know their quirks in the first place, _ he sends before he can think better of it.  _ Not really saving a life if I got them the information in the first place. _ Izuku forces himself to take a breath, shaky as it is.

_ Not your fault, _ Aizawa replies.  _ You’re doing the best you can in a difficult situation. Villains would have found a way to get the info even w/o you.  _ There’s a slight pause, then,  _ You okay, kid?  _

_ Yeah, _ Izuku sends back.  _ I’m ok. Just keep the two of them safe, please.  _ Izuku breathes out, tipping his head back to look up at the sky, light from below with the lights of the city. The stars shine through the haze of light, but only barely, twinkling in the tops of the navy-blue sky.

_ I will do my best, _ Aizawa says.  _ Stay safe.  _ Izuku reads the messages a few more times, before he deletes the messages from his history and shuts the burner phone off. 

\--

Izuku is sitting at his desk, chewing on the end of his pen. The English assignment in front is more difficult than he’s used to, but he’s almost done--there’s just one more question, asking about grammar. He’s pretty confident that he’s got it right, and he’s about to put down his answer when there’s a knock at his door.

“Hey, Midoriya,” Shinsou’s voice says, and Izuku blinks, turning in his chair. The door to his room opens, just enough for Shinsou to look inside. “Can you help me on the third question on Mic’s homework? I’m stuck.” Shinsou’s eyes look tired, but not quite as much as normal. It’s something Izuku’s noticed since Shinsou moved in, since he started the term with them, but Izuku hasn’t wanted to mention it. He gives Shinsou a smile.

“Sure!” he says, setting his pen down on top of his paper. “I’ve already got that one. Come here, I’ll show you.” Izuku waits as Shinsou nods slightly before walking into the room, his footsteps near silent on Izuku’s rug. He stops a few feet away from Izuku’s desk, only moving closer when Izuku slides his paper towards him. 

“You’re almost done,” Shinsou says, quietly. His eyes skirt over the paper, and Izuku can see him twisting his face in concentration. “It really is an exception, then?” Shinsou asks, reaching out and tapping on the paper. “English spelling doesn’t make any sense to me.” His voice is frustrated, and Izuku nods, giving Shinsou a sympathetic look.

“It doesn’t make sense to anyone, if that helps at all,” Izuku says. “I could walk you through it, if you want?” he offers, and Shinsou blinks up at him, his violet eyes slightly surprised. 

“Really?” he asks, and Izuku nods, giving him a little smile.

“Sure!” he says. “This one here, it’s from a French word, so it’s spelled like this, see?” Izuku taps on the page. He works through the entire worksheet with Shinsou, and by the time that they’ve gotten to the last problem, they’re both sitting on his floor and laughing at each other’s jokes. 

\--

“Hello, Midoriya,” Hound Dog says, looking up at Izuku as Izuku steps into the small, cozy office. “How are you?” His voice is friendly, soft, and Izuku almost hates it as much as he hates the fact that he’s been given mandatory counseling in the first place. The only thing keeping him sane is the fact that only the first session is mandatory, if Hound Dog doesn’t think he needs more of them, or something. Izuku’s prepared to reset as many times as necessary to ensure that he only has to come to this one.

“I-I’m good!” he says, giving Hound Dog a small smile as he sits in the cushy armchair positioned in front of Hound Dog’s desk. “A-A little nervous, to be honest,” he says, adding a shaky little laugh for good measure. It’s not really acting, not really a lie, but Izuku would rather Hound Dog think he’s nervous about opening up instead of realizing he’s nervous his lies will be noticed. 

“That’s completely understandable,” Hound Dog says, nodding. “Counseling can be something that’s very intimidating for a lot of people. Do you have any specific questions that I could answer to help you be a little less anxious about the whole process?” Hound Dog asks, tipping his head slightly to the side. Izuku swallows, fidgeting with his hands in his lap.

“Um, sorta just, what are you gonna tell my mom and Aizawa-sensei?” Izuku asks. Hound Dog nods.

“Everything you say here stays between you and me, Midoriya. The only exception to that is if you specifically ask me to share something with your mother or teacher, or if I think you’re in danger of hurting yourself or someone else.” Hound Dog pauses. “Ah, and as far as self injury goes, I won’t share any information you tell me with anyone else unless I think there’s a significant risk to your safety or that you are suicidal. Since you’re underage, there’s a bit more leeway on what I can tell your mother, but I don’t intend on sharing anything you’re not comfortable with me sharing unless I think your life is in danger.” He gives Izuku a wide smile that stretches across his canine muzzle. “Sound good?”

Izuku nods, chewing on his lower lip. He’d know from reading online that it would be something along those lines, but he had wanted to confirm from Hound Dog himself.  _ I still shouldn’t say enough to be concerning, but if I act like everything is okay, with him knowing about my cutting, he’ll know I’m lying.  _

“Y-Yeah,” he says. “Um, what are you looking for, exactly? To see if we need more sessions, I mean,” Izuku asks. It’s a gamble, because it could tip Hound Dog off to the fact that Izuku is trying to avoid more sessions, but Izuku will need that information if he resets and does this all again. Hound Dog nods, though, not looking at all put off.

“Of course,” he says, pushing his reading glasses a little lower on his snout, so he’s looking over them to see Izuku. “It’s really if you want more sessions, or if I think that the extra support would be helpful to you. I don’t want to force anyone to be here who doesn’t want to, so it’s mostly up to you,” Hound Dog says, his voice warm, and Izuku relaxes just a touch. Hound Dog continues, 

“I am a bit worried about what Aizawa shared with me about your self-injury, though,” he says, his brows lowering slightly. “As well as the traumatic experiences that you and many of your peers have gone through lately. If I think that your safety might be jeopardized by having you not be in therapy, I might schedule you a few more sessions even if you’re not a fan of the idea.” Hound Dog must see something on Izuku’s face, because he pauses, giving Izuku a smile. “It doesn’t have to be with me, if that’s the problem! We have another counselor who was just hired. If you’d like to switch to seeing her, just let me know.”

Izuku swallows. “You--You’re fine,” he says, then shrugs. “I just don’t really think I need to be in counseling.” Hound Dog tips his head slightly.

“What makes you say that?” Hound Dog asks. Izuku bites at his lower lip.

“I-I was really scared and stuff, after USJ,” Izuku says. “But since--since Aizawa-sensei and my mom have been helping me and stuff, I-I haven’t hurt myself or anything.” He sighs, knitting his hands together in his lap. “I know everyone is really worried about me, but I just want to focus on being a hero. I’m not really upset but everything as long as I can still do that, you know?” He looks up at Hound Dog with the last few words, sees the counselor nodding.

“Of course,” he says. “I’m glad to hear you haven’t been hurting yourself, Midoriya. That’s really amazing progress for you to have made in such a short amount of time,” Hound Dog says, his voice warm with praise, genuine praise. It almost makes Izuku feel bad for lying to him.

“T-Thanks,” Izuku says, feeling his cheeks grow warm. “It w-wasn’t that hard, really,” he says. “I’ve been too busy to--to think about it much.” Hound Dog nods.

“How are you coping with the workload?” he asks, picking up a pen and making a note on a notebook in front of him. “Oh, don’t mind the notes,” he says. “They’re just for me, so that I remember everything right.” Izuku nods.

“I-I think it’s okay, really,” Izuku says, looking up and to the side, at the bookshelves lining Hound Dog’s shelves. “Like, I’m busy all of the time, b-but it’s a good kind of busy. I feel like--like I’m getting something done.” Izuku thinks about the time he spends on patrol, instead of sleeping, about the time he spends in his costume. It’s worth the missed hours of rest and studying if he can help someone, if he can make up for what he’s doing to save Mouse.

“That’s good to hear,” Hound Dog says, nodding. “When you’re under stress that causes you distress, it’s bad for your health, but a little bit of stress can actually do what you’re describing. It can help you do what you need to do, and it can also help you feel a sense of accomplishment.” Izuku nods quickly, his head bobbing.

“Exactly!” he says. “It--It pushes me, but I don’t--It’s not making me cry or anything.” Izuku only cries about the Gekkeiju stuff and how useless he is, really. UA is the best part about his life. As long as Hound Dog keeps asking about that, Izuku will breeze right through this. 

“Good, good,” Hound Dog says, the skin under his eyes crinkling as he smiles. “It sounds like school is something positive in your life. You and Aizawa seem pretty close. Tell me about that.” Izuku nods, smiling.

“Yeah, Aizawa-sensei--he’s really great,” Izuku says. “He taught me how to use knives and stuff, and how to fight, even though I’m quirkless. He’s really nice to me, too, even when I mess up,” Izuku says, trying to hold himself back from rambling, but it’s hard to restrain himself. “He’s a really really good hero, too, and he basically fights quirkless, so it’s amazing how strong he is.” Hound Dog nods, marking something down in his notebook.

“You mentioned how he taught you to fight, even though you’re quirkless,” Hound Dog says. “Do you view your quirklessness as something that should keep you from learning?” he asks, a thoughtful expression on his face. Izuku freezes for a second.

“Um, no--not exactly, it’s just--it’s more difficult, you know?” Izuku fidgets with his hands again, even though he’s sure that that isn’t helping his case for looking well-adjusted and sane. “I guess I’m not--not used to people wanting to help a quirkless kid.” Hound Dog nods, a sorrowful look on his features.

“Yes, the discrimination against quirkless people is really very severe, especially in your generation and younger,” Hound Dog says, tapping his pen against his notebook paper. “Have you been experiencing any kind of discrimination here at UA?” Izuku shakes his head quickly.

“No, t-the opposite, really,” Izuku says. “I-I thought at first that Aizawa-sensei didn’t like me because--because of that, but I misunderstood. Everyone is really, really nice,” he says. Hound Dog smiles.

“I’m really glad to hear that,” he says, marking something down on his paper. “Now, I want to ask you about something that might be a difficult topic for you. It’s totally fine if you’re not okay with discussing it, so just tell me if you need to stop, okay?” Hound Dog asks, giving Izuku an encouraging smile. With the way his sharp canine teeth show, though, Izuku can’t help but see it as slightly predatory.

“Um, s-sure,” Izuku says, and Hound Dog nods.

“After the summer camp, you were in the custody of a villain organization for nine days,” Hound Dog says, his voice serious and calm. “I understand that you haven’t spoken to anybody about that. I’m less interested in what happened, necessarily, and more interested in knowing how you’re doing.” He meets Izuku’s eyes, and Izuku swallows.

“I-I’m okay, I think,” Izuku says, looking down at the table. Hound Dog isn’t making any notes. “Nothing--nothing really happened, to be honest. I-I just... They let me go,” he says, shifting in his seat. “It sucked to be there, yeah, b-but I’m out now, and I’m--I don’t even really think about it.” Hound Dog nods, finally leaning down to write something Izuku can’t make out on his paper.

“I’m glad to hear that you’re doing okay,” Hound Dog says. “If that changes, please be sure to go to Aizawa or myself. There’s no shame in experiencing difficulties after such a traumatic event,” he says, giving Izuku a warm smile. Izuku blinks.

“You--you believe me?” Izuku asks. Hound Dog tips his head.

“Is there a reason I shouldn’t?” he asks, and Izuku curses himself mentally.

“No--it’s just, everyone keeps assuming that--that something’s wrong,” Izuku says, biting at his lower lip. Hound Dog hums, nodding.

“Yes, well, I trust you. I find that if you assume people are lying to you when telling the truth would be in their best interest, you end up losing their trust in you.” He smiles. “If you tell me you’re okay, I believe you. If you aren’t telling the truth, well, then I won’t judge you for it if you come back and tell me that you’ve done nothing but lie this whole time. That’s okay.” Izuku stares back at him.

“I-I’m not lying,” he says, and Hound Dog nods.

“I don’t think you are,” Hound Dog says, then glances down at his watch. “We’re out of time, unfortunately. Is there anything you wanted to ask me before we wrap things up?” Izuku shakes his head, and Hound Dog nods before continuing. “Now, I think that you’re handling all of this better than anyone could expect, but you’ve still been through a lot. I’d like to check in with you again once this semester, and then twice next semester, just to make sure that everything keeps going good. Is that okay with you?” he asks, and Izuku blinks.  _ Only three times? And not regularly? _

“S-Sure,” Izuku says. “I’m okay with that.” Hound Dog nods, giving him a smile.

“Glad to hear it!” he says in response. “I’ll let you know when I want to see you next, okay?” 

Izuku nods. “Okay!” he says, starting to stand up from his chair when Hound Dog speaks.

“Oh, one more thing!” Hound Dog says, raising a paw. “Would you be comfortable with me telling Aizawa our plan of when to meet again? I won’t share any other details with him--it’s purely for scheduling purposes, in case you have to miss class.” Izuku nods.

“That’s fine,” Izuku says. It’ll probably make Aizawa less suspicious of him if he knows that Hound Dog only wanted to see Izuku a handful more times. 

“Perfect!” Hound Dog says. “I’ll see you next time then, Midoriya. Oh, and feel free to come by anytime if you need to talk sooner. I may bark, but I never bite!” he says, laughing. Izuku grins despite himself, and he waves as he walks out of the little office.

“I-I will!” he says, turning and walking back down the hallway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: vomiting/illness, panic attacks, mentions of self harm
> 
> [discord!](https://discord.gg/seuCkscYSY) please read the rules. 16+ only!
> 
> i hope you enjoyed!!!!!! i love reading y'all's comments especially whenever fury and mouse show up djfkghkfdjg also i hope the more comfort-y chapter was okay!! this arc is kind of slow so yeah


	65. nighteye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku gets some cookies, has a little freak-out, and gets some much-needed therapy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes this is horrendously late but it's friday and i had a lot of stuff today :') i got my first covid shot though so!!!!

Izuku is hopping down a fire escape, headed towards what he  _ thinks _ is just a guy looking through the garbage dumpster (he wants to be sure the guy isn’t hiding like, drugs. Or a body.) when he hears the soft rippling of a capture weapon. Izuku ignores, for just long enough to land in front of the guy, who whips around and looks at him, his dreads whirling around his face. His hands are crab claws, and they click and clack nervously.

“Uh, are you like, a villain?” the guy asks, a nervous grimace on his face. Izuku blinks.

“Um, no,” he says awkwardly shifting his feet. “I’m a vigilante. What are you.... doing?” Now that he’s closer, Izuku is pretty sure that the guy has a bunch of eggshells and animal bones at his feet, which is kind of not what he expected at all. The guy frowns, crossing his arms (claws?) over his chest.

“I’m getting calcium, dude. I have to eat all of this stuff for my quirk,” he says, waving a hand at it, “which means I don’t have any for the garden, and I’m  _ not _ buying fertilizer when it’s  _ literally  _ just as good to use trash.” He wrinkles his nose. “Kinda nasty, though.” Izuku nods, agreeing. There really is quite a stench coming from the garbage, like rotten fish.

“You could ask your neighbors?” Izuku offers. The guy snorts.

“Yeah, a black guy who’s a mutant type, asking for their garbage? I’m sure that will go over  _ really _ well,” the guy says, rolling his eyes. “Sorry to disappoint, I guess. I don’t  _ think  _ this is illegal.” He clacks his claws a couple more times, and Izuku starts to walk away, grimacing awkwardly.

“Yup, uh, sorry to bother you?” he says, turning and walking from the alley. Izuku hears the guy grunt in response, and he almost forgets that he knows Aizawa is following him, until he’s almost a block from calcium dude, and the hero drops out of the sky, landing in a crouch in front of Izuku. Izuku flinches back, his hands automatically going to the knives on his belt, before he recognizes Aizawa.

“It’s just me,” Aizawa says, straightening up. His capture weapon, poofed out when he landed, retracts, wrapping around his neck with a rustling sound. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Could have texted me,” Izuku says. He keeps the burner phone on him on patrol, in case something happens. He doesn’t  _ think _ he’d actually call Aizawa in an emergency, but it’s nice to know he has options, at least. Aizawa raises an eyebrow at him.

“Are you sure that line is secure?” Aizawa asks. “Let me guess. The Gekkeiju gave it to you.” Izuku freezes. “Yeah, thought so.” 

“I-I don’t think they’re looking at the messages,” Izuku says, lamely, and Aizawa stares back at him.

“Better safe than sorry,” he says. “I can give you another one, one that’s secure, but you need to do me a favor, first. There’s someone who wants to meet you.” Izuku blinks.

“Who?” Izuku asks, narrowing his eyes behind his reflective goggles. “Are you about to arrest me?”

“No,” Aizawa says. “Sir Nighteye. He’s underground, like me, but I’m sure you’ve heard of him.” Izuku nods, his mouth suddenly dry.

“I have,” he says. Nighteye has Foresight, for real. Izuku isn’t sure that there’s a more dangerous person for him to meet, really. 

“He works with double agents a lot,” Aizawa says, sliding his hands into his pockets. “He wants to meet you, both to assess if you’re actually on the heroes’ side, and to provide you better support, if you are.” Izuku swallows. 

“This isn’t optional, i-is it?” he asks. Aizawa stares at him through the slits in his goggles, his eyes narrowed.

“Not really, no,” Aizawa answers. 

“Great,” Izuku mutters, swallowing, and Aizawa must be able to tell he’s anxious even under the goggles and the mask, because he sighs.

“We’re not going to arrest you, and it isn’t far from here.” Aizawa presses his lips into a thin line. “We won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do, Ace.”

“The mask--the mask stays on,” Izuku says, “and you don’t try to find out who I am.” Aizawa stares back at him, his face carefully blank.

“Kid, I’ve been trying to figure out who you are since we first met,” Aizawa says, sighing. “If I haven’t found you yet, I don’t think you meeting Nighteye is going to be what does it.” Izuku swallows.

“If he--if he looks into my future, he might figure it out,” Izuku says. Aizawa’s eyes narrow.

“What makes you say that?” he asks. Izuku squints at him.

“He could see what school I go to, where I live, my face, and more,” Izuku says, an incredulous laugh in his voice. “All information that could narrow things down way more than just my age range and quirk, which is what you have right now.” Aizawa’s shoulders move as he takes in a breath.

“Fair enough,” Aizawa says, his face moving into something that might be a grimace or a frown. “I’ll ask him not to look any further than he needs to.” Izuku nods, the motion shaky.

“Okay,” he says. “You’re not doing this just to figure out who I am?” Izuku asks, just because there’s the bitter taste of anxiety in his mouth. Aizawa sighs, shaking his head.

“No, Ace. I’m not trying to hurt you, and you’ve made it very clear that figuring out who you are would do just that.” Aizawa’s eyes are narrowed, his brows slightly furrowed over his goggles. “If I knew who you were, it would be easier to keep you safe.” 

“I know,” Izuku says, his throat tight. “Where are we meeting him?” Izuku asks, swallowing. Aizawa sighs, turning to his right. 

“His agency. He operates out of Musutafu,” Aizawa says. Izuku blinks.

“He does?” That’s news to Izuku. He knew that Nighteye was in the area in general, but he didn’t think he was in the same  _ city _ as Izuku. He hasn’t seen him, not once.

Aizawa nods. “He has multiple locations, but his current project is here.” He glances down the street, takes a few steps forward before glancing back. Izuku blinks, realizing that he’s meant to follow, and he scrambles down the street after his teacher. Aizawa walks quickly, but not as fast as Izuku knows that he can. He’s walking slower, slow enough that Izuku’s shorter legs can keep up easily. Izuku can walk fast enough to keep up with his teacher’s fastest pace, he thinks, but it’s nice that Aizawa is thinking of him. 

“How far is it?” Izuku asks, to fill the silence. Aizawa glances back at him, through a curtain of dark hair. 

“About two minutes walk,” Aizawa answers. “I tried to get you at the closest point in your patrol, save us both some time.” Izuku blinks, nodding. 

“You--you have my patrol route memorized?” Izuku asks. He didn’t think that Aizawa really cared enough to do that. It’s obvious enough that Aizawa cares a  _ little _ , but Izuku thinks that at least part of that is the fact that Izuku’s technically breaking the law.  _ Not anymore, I have my license, _ he reminds himself. 

“Of course I do,” Aizawa says, sounding mildly surprised. “Your normal route, anyway. You know mine.” It’s not a question, but Izuku nods. 

“Y-Yeah, I do,” Izuku says. He looks down, at the sidewalk that they’re walking on. The concrete is dirty, with black, smooth spots where gum has been spit onto the ground and trampled into the sidewalk by thousands and thousands of footsteps over it. 

“We’re here,” Aizawa says, stopping in front of an unassuming business front. It’s a large, five story building at the corner of the street they’re walking along and the next street. Izuku glances up at it. It’s a cool grey concrete, with mirrored windows interspersed throughout. The doors Aizawa reaches over and opens are made of that same mirrored glass, and it fills Izuku with a sense of dread as he follows his teacher inside. It’s eerily reminiscent of the Gekkeiju base, even though that building is larger and the mirroring of the glass is less silver, more blue tinted. 

The first floor of the building is a sparsely furnished office, with a desk in the corner, a table with two monitors on one wall, and a few bookshelves. Scattered about the room are a few more desks, but only the one in the corner is occupied. Nighteye, a tall man with lanky limbs and dark hair streaked with little pieces of gold, is sitting at the desk, his hands folded together and his elbows propped up on the table. Izuku swallows, casting a glance around the room. There’s a lot of All Might merchandise, covering the room--posters, figures, even a cardboard cut out. Izuku finds his gaze catching on Nighteye’s silver age All Might design mousepad. He wonders if that’s custom ordered. Either way, Nighteye is a big fan. 

“Eraserhead,” Nighteye says, looking over the edge of his rectangular glasses. “And Ace, I presume.” Izuku swallows, nodding. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, beating too fast and too hard. Izuku hears a door open, and when he looks to the side,  _ Mirio _ of all people is shutting a door, a smile on his face.

“Looks like I’m just in time, sir,” Mirio says, grinning as he leans against the shut door. He’s wearing what must be his hero costume, a tight-fitting bodysuit with a cape and everything. Izuku can see his hero name printed on the front. Izuku swallows, his mouth suddenly dry and his palms suddenly sweaty.  _ This is bad. This is really, really bad. _

“Looks like,” Nighteye says, his gaze still fixed on Izuku. Izuku can see that his eyes are yellow-gold, and the color sends a spark of hot fear through him. He takes a step back, his heart fluttering in his throat as he shuts his eyes, for just a second.

“Ace, you good?” Aizawa asks. Izuku opens his eyes, sees his teacher looking at him with something that might be concern. Izuku forces himself to take a deep, steadying breath. 

“I’m fine,” Izuku says, and he’s so grateful that his stutter doesn’t crop up now, that it doesn’t give him away. Aizawa’s gaze on him is thoughtful, but he doesn’t say anything else. 

“How old are you?” Nighteye asks, tapping his fingers together. Izuku turns to him.

“Fifty-six,” he deadpans. Nighteye raises an eyebrow at him, and Mirio chuckles as he crosses the room, moving to stand in front of Izuku.

“I’m Lemillion,” Mirio says, offering a hand to Izuku. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m a real big fan of your work.” Izuku blinks, taking Mirio’s hand and shaking it. 

“Y-You are?” Izuku asks, and Mirio nods eagerly.

“Yeah! You haven’t had any training, and yet you’ve saved so many people already. I’m probably older than you, and I’ve only just now started.” He gives Izuku a sheepish grin. “I’ve been dying to meet you.”

“Oh,” Izuku says, blinking. He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything. Izuku wonders if Mirio can see his eyes through the reflective goggles, this close up. Mirio gives his hand a squeeze, then releases it.

“Come on,” Mirio says, looking back at him as he turns and walks further into the room, tugging a chair away from a desk. “You two are just hovering near the door. We don’t bite, you know.” Izuku nods, glancing up to look at Aizawa. His teacher looks back down at him, his eyes half lidded through his goggles. Aizawa takes a few steps further into the room, moving to stand beside a tall potted plant. Izuku swallows, walking further into the room and taking the chair that Mirio offers him. It’s cold and slightly uncomfortable, but it’s not a cushy armchair, and Izuku is okay with that. Mirio moves to stand next to Nighteye’s desk, leaning on the wall next to it. Izuku wishes he and Aizawa would sit, but at least Nighteye himself isn’t standing.

“So, Ace,” Nighteye says, leaning forward. “What, exactly, is your relationship with the Gekkeiju?” Izuku swallows, taking a slow breath to keep his heart from racing in his chest.

“I-I agreed to work for them,”Izuku says, keeping his gaze carefully on the tile floor between him and Sir Nighteye. “I want to--to get information, on how they work. So that I can help to get their p-prisoners out and to safety.” Nighteye’s eyes narrow.

“How did you know about the prisoners in the first place?” he asks. Izuku swallows. 

“I-I already knew about, um, Avenging Angel going missing. And I put together from stuff I overheard while listening in on t-them on patrol that they had her. I didn’t know about Mouse until I was at their base,” Izuku says. He knows the moment that he says it that it’s a mistake. Nighteye raises one eyebrow, slowly. 

“You know where their base is?” Nighteye asks. “Why have you not shared this information with us? And who is Mouse?” Izuku feels a shiver run down his spine.

“M-Mouse is--she’s a little girl,” Izuku says, his voice breaking. “She’s just a little kid, and they have her prisoner, and they hurt her and they--they  _ use _ her,” Izuku says. He squeezes his eyes shut. “They--they t-told--” Izuku bites his lip, starts again. “If I give you t-the address, they s-said they would cut off her arm,” he says, his voice small and choked. “I can’t--I can’t do that to her.” He squeezes his hands into fists, the pads on his gloves biting into his skin. Izuku wonders if there’s metal, in the pads. It’d be a clever form of armor, and the gloves are kind of heavy. There’s a heavy pause in the room, and then Izuku hears a sigh, hears the screeching of a chair moving against tile. 

He jerks his head up to see Nighteye standing, his palms down on the desk and his gaze trained on the floor. His lips are pressed into a thin line as he looks up at Izuku, then stands up fully, straightening up. It only takes him a few steps to fully cross the room, to stand in front of Izuku. Izuku jerks back instinctively, every nerve on edge. He wishes he could just get out his knife now, that he could end this conversation and just run away from Aizawa when he approached him. He sees Nighteye’s brow crease as he crouches down in front of Izuku, and Izuku flinches back again, his muscles wound tight. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Nighteye says, and Izuku just nods. He can’t handle the yellow-gold of Nighteye’s eyes, even though it’s a brighter, lighter shade than Fury’s, not as deep or as orange. Izuku shuts his eyes, resisting the urge to pull his knees up to his chest. 

“I-I’m sorry,” Izuku says. “I couldn’t--I couldn’t do that to her,” he whispers. He hears a sigh from Nighteye.

“Eraserhead, you said you thought he was in high school,” Nighteye says. “He can’t be any older than a first year.” Izuku opens his eyes to see Nighteye watching him, a weary expression on his face.

“I think he was in middle school when he first started,” Aizawa says, his voice low and gruff. “He was inactive for a few weeks around the time of entrance exams.” Izuku swallows, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to get his breathing under control. 

“Ace,” Nighteye says, his voice low and even. “I need you to take a few deep breaths for me.” Izuku swallows, leaning away from Nighteye. He can’t close his eyes, because then he doesn’t  _ know _ that it isn’t Fury in front of him, and he can’t keep them open, because then all he sees is the yellow of his eyes. Izuku tries to take a breath, but it makes a strange wheezing noise.  _ Definitely going to have to kill myself after this _ , he thinks.

“You--your eyes,” Izuku gasps out, and Nighteye frowns, his brows creasing together. 

“My eyes?” Nighteye echoes, and then he’s moving back, out of Izuku’s vision. “Eraserhead, he’s more familiar with you.” Izuku blinks, staring down at the tile floor as Nighteye moves out of his field of vision, his grey suit quickly replaced by Aizawa’s dark, loose costume.

“Ace, hey,” Aizawa says, his voice thick with worry. “You’re safe. Nobody here is going to hurt you.” He reaches a hand up, gently resting it on Izuku’s knee, and Izuku barely even twitches. “I need you to try and breathe with me, okay? In for four seconds.” He takes an exaggerated breath, which Izuku copies. “Hold for four,” he says, and Izuku holds it, his chest feeling tight. “And out for four. Good,” he says, as Izuku breathes out, slowly. Izuku knows this, knows the square breathing, and he keeps repeating the cycle as Aizawa squeezes his knee.

“Sorry,” Izuku says, quietly. Aizawa shakes his head.

“Don’t apologize. You’re in an incredibly difficult situation right now. Anybody would be stressed.” He takes a slow breath. “Can you tell me what you meant about Nighteye’s eyes?”

Izuku nods. “One of the--of the Gekkeiju, his quirk relies on eye contact,” he says, his voice shaking. “It--It hurts. It’s  _ torture _ . A-And his eyes are gold.” It doesn’t help, either, that Nighteye’s wearing a grey suit. It isn’t the same shade of any of Fury’s that Izuku’s seen thus far, but it’s definitely close enough to trick his brain. He sees Aizawa nod, reaching up and tugging his goggles down, so they hang around his neck. It’s the first time Izuku as Ace has seen Aizawa without the goggles, and it makes him feel a little bit like he has whiplash. There’s impressions in Aizawa’s skin where the goggles pressed into the flesh. 

“That would certainly explain his reaction to me,” Nighteye says, and when Izuku glances up, he’s standing back, about six feet back from where Izuku is still sitting in the chair. Izuku feels his face heat up slightly.

“S-Sorry, you didn’t do anything to--to deserve me f-freaking out on you like that,” Izuku says, shifting in the chair. He sees Nighteye frown slightly, but that might just be his face. Still against the wall, Mirio gives him a sad smile.

“Ace, it’s really okay,” Mirio says, his voice gentle. “Sir didn’t mean to scare you, he’s just kind of mean-looking.” His lips quirk up in a smile, and Izuku can’t help but return it, even though he knows Mirio can’t see through his mask.

“Right,” Izuku says, giving himself a shake. “I-I’m okay now,” he says. “I can give you the l-location of the base when--when Mouse and Avenging Angel are safe,” he says, looking at Nighteye. Nighteye pauses for a moment, then nods.

“I don’t think there’s much of a chance of you being a villain,” Nighteye says, his lips set in a grim line, “but I’d like to look into your future anyway to be sure. It’s just a precaution.” Izuku swallows, nodding. He’s going to have to reset this round anyway, considering how much information he’s sure his little freak-out just gave away. He’s sure that the way he acted or the way he cried or  _ something _ would tip either Mirio or Aizawa off to who he really was, if they were given enough time to think about it. Izuku may as well figure out what Nighteye will see if he checks Izuku’s future, while he’s at it. 

“Okay,” Izuku says, swallowing to clear the snot running down the back of his throat. “What d-do you need to do?” he asks. He wishes he could wipe the drying tears off of his face around his eyes or blow his nose, but the goggles and mask stop him from doing either. 

“The exact activation details are kept secret, but I’ll need to touch you,” Nighteye says, but he doesn’t move from the spot. “I’m not going to hurt you. Do you have a preference for where?” His gaze moves up and down Izuku. “You don’t have any bare skin showing, that I can see.” Izuku blinks, realizing that Nighteye is right. His ears are probably the only part of him that isn’t covered by something, and his hood at least partially hides them. Izuku nods, reaching down to tug off one of his gloves, setting it down in his lap. 

He holds his hand out, palm up, and Nighteye takes a few steps toward him. Aizawa doesn’t move from his spot where he’s crouched on the floor, eye-level with Izuku, and Izuku’s grateful for that. Nighteye reaches out, and Izuku swallows as his bare fingers brush against Izuku’s skin. Their eyes meet for a moment, and then Nighteye’s eyes are widening, his lips parting slightly and a small gasp escaping him.

“Aizawa,” Nighteye says, his voice slightly choked.  _ He used Aizawa’s real name _ . “Restrain him,” Nighteye says, and Izuku jerks back, surprised. He sees Aizawa’s brow furrow.

“What?” he asks, and Nighteye is answering even before Aizawa has finished asking the question.

“He’s going to kill himself,” he says, voice quick and panicked. “As soon as this conversation is over, he’s going to run from here and he’s going to--he’s going to slit his own throat,” Nighteye says, his eyes on the floor. “I don’t know what happened, my quirk doesn’t give auditory information, but he’s going to kill himself.” 

Aizawa doesn’t waste any time, doesn’t give Izuku a chance to run or fight or even to think. His capture weapon is wrapping around Izuku, thick loops of the scarf tugging tight around Izuku’s torso. Izuku has just enough time to jerk his arms up, so that the scarf doesn’t catch them in the first couple of loops, but another length of white, strong fabric snares around his wrists, jerking his hands together. Aizawa grimaces as he tugs at the capture weapon, and it tightens around Izuku’s chest. 

“What am I thinking?” Nighteye says, an incredulous laugh in his voice. He reaches up a hand, pushing hair out of his face and holding the heel of his hand to his forehead. “My quirk is never wrong. He’s going to die, Eraser.” From behind him, Mirio jogs forward, stopping in front of his mentor.

“How does he get out?” Mirio asks. “You had to have seen this too, right? Do how did he--” Mirio’s sentence cuts off when Izuku flicks his wrist, ripping a knife from the sheath hidden under the sweater sleeve. It had been a risk, using something so similar to his hero costume as Deku, but he’s so, so grateful for it now as he cuts quickly through the capture weapon around his wrists. The blade nicks the flesh of his forearm as it goes, sending a small spray of blood up into the air as Izuku twists the knife, cutting haphazardly at the capture weapon wrapped around his chest, not caring if he breaks through to his flesh underneath. He’s going to die anyway, after all. 

“Ace, stop!” Aizawa shouts, jerking on the capture weapon, his voice thick with panic. “We can help you, we can find a way to--”

“Don’t bother,” Izuku hisses, digging the knife into his own side as he cuts the weapon away. “I’m going to die anyway, and then you won’t even remember.” Blood starts to run down Izuku’s side, and the capture weapon starts to fall apart, releasing Izuku. 

Izuku turns and runs, not looking back. He doesn’t hesitate even when he sees Mirio pop up next to him, just dodges the lunge that Mirio makes at him. Izuku’s pushing his way through the glass doors of the building one heartbeat, and the next he’s ducking into an alleyway and digging his knife into the pit of his throat, stabbing it into his windpipe and then jerking it up and to the side, to get his artery. It’s only one horrible, painful second of choking and bleeding before his quirk starts to tug him away, but before he’s completely gone, he sees Aizawa and Mirio turning the corner, panicked expressions on their face.

Nighteye isn’t with them. Izuku supposes that he wouldn’t want to watch a second time, either.

\--

Izuku opens his eyes as they’re walking into the building, Aizawa’s hands pushing the glass doors open and Izuku hurrying into the building after him. Izuku doesn’t allow himself any reaction, any kind of expression that might give away what he’d just done. He takes a slow breath, trying to steady himself as he comes to the realization.  _ I absolutely can’t kill myself after this, or Nighteye will see me doing it, and I’ll have to run again. I have to make this permanent, or I might not get away next time. _

Everything is the same as before, when they walk in, down to the expression Nighteye makes at them, to the way his voice sounds.

“Eraserhead,” he says, the same careful coldness that Izuku thinks might be an act, at least partially. “And Ace, I presume.” 

“That’s me,” Izuku says, raising one hand in a little wave. He waits just a beat, knowing to expect the sound of a door opening. Izuku turns and watches Mirio step out of what looks like a stairwell, shutting the door behind him and giving them a bright grin.

“Looks like I’m just in time, sir!” Mirio says, his blue eyes moving over Izuku. Izuku waves at him, too.

“Looks like,” Nighteye says. Last time, Izuku had already begun to panic at this point, confronted with Mirio and a man in a grey suit with golden eyes,but this time, Izuku knows to turn his gaze to Mirio, to take a few steps forward. Mirio moves forward too, and they meet in the center of the room.

“Hi, Ace!” Mirio says, offering a hand that Izuku gladly takes. “I’ve been dying to meet you. I’m kind of a big fan of yours,” he says as he shakes Izuku’s hand. “I’m Lemillion, by the way.”

“I think I saw you on TV,” Izuku says, squeezing Mirio’s hand and shaking it back. “Toogata, right? You were so cool at your sports festival.” Mirio’s eyes widen slightly.

“Oh gosh, you watched that?” He grins brightly as they both pull their hands back. Izuku nods quickly.

“Of course! Everyone who wants to be a hero does,” he says, glad that his mask hides when his face turns red. From his desk, Nighteye clears his throat.

“Let’s get down to business,” Nighteye says. “Ace, what exactly are you doing with the Gekkeiju?” Izuku turns to face him. He doesn’t look at his eyes, instead fixing his gaze on the wall behind him, and at this distance it seems to work. Izuku makes himself take a steadying breath before he speaks, and he prays his stutter stays hidden.

“I’m infiltrating them,” he says, his voice calm and steady despite the nerves buzzing in his chest. “I learned that they were keeping Avenging Angel through what I overhead on my--my patrol, and since then, I’ve learned of a second--a second captive.” Izuku pauses, giving himself a chance to bite on his tongue, the burst of sharp pain steadying him. “They call her M-Mouse, and she’s only about ten. They’re--they’re hurting her, and they’ve threatened to--to hurt her, if I leak information.” Izuku swallows. “I want to get them--the prisoners--out, safely, and I want the Gekkeiju to pay for what they did to t-them, and to the other people they’ve hurt.” He takes a deep breath.

Nighteye stares back at him, his eyes narrowed, searching. Izuku takes a breath. It feels good, to finally verbalize to someone what he’s doing, exactly, and what he’s doing it  _ for _ , but at the same time, it’s nerve-wracking. Izuku isn’t sure if Nighteye will believe him, if he’ll trust that Izuku is really on the side of the heroes.  _ He definitely won’t without proof _ . 

Izuku reaches down, tugging off the glove on his left hand. He holds the glove in his right hand, and he walks towards Nighteye, his bare left hand held out, palm up again. He turns his head so that it’ll look like he’s making eye contact with Nighteye, even though his gaze is trained on the desk.

“Look at my future, and see for yourself,” Izuku says. “But please don’t--don’t try and figure out who I--who I am.” He squares his shoulders, swallows. “I want to keep my identity secret.” He hates the tiny shake he can hear in his voice, but when he glances up at Nighteye, he can see something akin to curiosity in the man’s eyes as he reaches out, his fingers brushing the surface of Izuku’s palm. Their eyes meet, and Nighteye doesn’t startle, this time. His eyes narrow, and he frowns slightly as he pulls his hand back. Izuku pulls his own back, sliding the glove back over it. 

“Your quirk,” Nighteye asks, tipping his head slightly to the side and pressing his lips together. “What is it, exactly?” Izuku turns his head to the side, looking at where Aizawa has moved to stand by that same potted plant.

“It’s called Mulligan,” Izuku says. “I can see possible futures when I’m in mortal danger.” He sees Aizawa’s brow furrow. “The ‘mortal’ part is kind of fuzzy, though,” Izuku clarifies. Nighteye grunts.

“Hm. It’s interesting, because your future becomes blurred very quickly,” Nighteye says. Izuku looks back at him, blinking. “I’ve never seen that happen, before. I can’t see clearly past a few hours, and not at all past a few days, but” he pauses, sighing and folding his hands together on the desk, “it’s apparent from what I  _ did  _ see that you are not working with the villains, not for real.” A slow smile spreads over his face, and Izuku feels himself relaxing, slightly.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Mirio says from off to the side, chuckling. “I didn’t know what I was going to do if you were bad, you know.” Izuku can’t help the tiny smile that creeps up his lips with that. 

“I never thought for a second he would be,” Aizawa says, his voice gruff. “But it’s good to have confirmation.” 

“Right, well, it’s necessary to verify these things,” Nighteye says, sighing. Izuku can see some tension bleed out of his shoulders. “Ace, I must ask, how old are you?” A moment passes where Izuku doesn’t respond, and Nighteye continues. “I didn’t see anything that revealed your identity, but it’s clear that you’re not an adult.” Izuku swallows.

“I-I’m sixteen,” he says, and he hears Mirio whistle through his teeth. Nighteye sighs.

“Well, I can’t say I expected anything older,” he says. “I assume that Eraserhead has already explained to you in great detail that it would be far safer for you if you would tell us who you are, yes?” Izuku nods, but it’s Aizawa who answers.

“Trust me, I’ve been trying to convince the kid to tell me since we’ve met,” Aizawa says, and when Izuku glances over to him. “Best I’ve gotten is his quirk and him finally texting me.”

“Yes, about that,” Nighteye says, leaning back in his chair to open a drawer of his desk. “I have this, for you,” he says, sliding a plain grey flip phone across the desk to Izuku. “It’s paid for, so don’t worry about that. It has my contact as well as Lemillion’s and Eraserhead’s. It also has a few other heroes in the area, in case the three of us are unreachable for whatever reason.” He meets Izuku’s eyes, and Izuku forces himself not to look away. “I trust that you’ll contact us not only with information, but also if you ever require help?” His voice is serious, calm. It reminds Izuku a bit of Aizawa, but it’s still not quite the same. Izuku gets why Mirio trusts Nighteye so much, now.

“I-I will,” Izuku says, reaching out and taking the phone. He tucks it into one of his pants pockets. “Thank you,” he adds, and Nighteye nods.

“You’re welcome,” he says, something unreadable in his expression. “Our quirks are fairly similar, you know. It’s likely that we will end up collaborating at some point, if you’re able to become a hero.” Nighteye glances over to Mirio. “I heard what you said, about wanting to be one. It’s not too late for you.” Izuku blinks, then nods.

“I-I know, sir,” he says, not bothering to hide the slight smile that grows on his face since the mask will hide it for him. “I’m working on it.”

Nighteye and Aizawa let Izuku go, as promised. As Izuku slips down the streets, as he runs along the roofs, taking a circuitous route back to UA so as to throw Aizawa off his trail if he’s tailing him, his new phone sits in his pocket, heavy in a way that his Gekkeiju phone never has been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: graphic graphic suicide, uhhhhhhhh panic attacks, references to abuse and torture
> 
> [discord!](https://discord.gg/seuCkscYSY) you won't be able to type when you first get in!! read the rules and post an intro and you'll be verified so you can talk :D also it's 16+
> 
> thank y'all so so much!!!!! i know that this fic is fucking LONG and i apologize for my slow slow slow pacing but i promise we are starting to get to the MEAT of the second superarc


	66. ideation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku goes to meet nighteye as ace and nigtheye sees him killing himself in the future. ace bullshit ensues, but izuku gets away and manages to reset. he gets a heroic burner phone to match the evil one!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI POGCHAMPS sorry if this is shittier than usual im having cool and fun ~side effects~ from the covid shot (either that or im sick idk and idc tbh) so my brain is mush but this was a juicy boy to write

When Izuku slips back into his room, his hands are shaking and his face feels cold despite the relative warmth in the building and outside. It’s late, at least three in the morning, and Izuku should really go to sleep. He sits himself on top of his bed, cross legged in the change of clothes he’d had in his hollow tree (a sweatshirt and shorts--he should put sweats, next time. It’s cold in the middle of the night). Izuku can hear his own heartbeat rushing in his ears, and he feels pathetic.

_ What even is there for me to be upset about? I got away, and Nighteye trusts me, now, _ Izuku tells himself, but it doesn’t stop the shaking in his hands. He’s been avoiding thinking about it, stopping his brain from drifting to the way that there’s a sort of exhausted hunger in the back of his mind, hoping and  _ praying _ that when he goes to the tower this weekend, that Fury is happy with him. He’s been trying not to think about the way that ever since Saturday, everything has felt just a little  _ off, _ a little  _ wrong _ . The way that he used to get at least some sense of safety from being in his room, the way that he used to feel okay when he got back to the dorm, even if he had to kill himself to get into a real sense of relaxation. It all pales, in comparison to that long, drawn out Heaven that Fury had given him. 

Izuku wraps his arms around himself, swallows. He feels a lump building in his throat, because now he’s thinking about that  _ other _ thing, about the fact that when he’d killed himself in front of Aizawa and Mirio, he hadn’t felt that normal rush of euphoria that comes with bleeding out. He tries to tell himself that that’s okay, that it’s just because it was in special circumstances and it doesn’t mean that he’s lost his comfort, but he can’t shake the thought from his head that either Heaven or Hell has robbed him of his only comfort, of his respite. 

Izuku swallows, pressing the pads of his fingers into the fabric of his sweatshirt over his biceps, into the bandages and the flesh underneath. He feels a quick bloom of pain, and that shaky tiny rush that he gets with pain this small. He lets out a sigh, but it turns into more of a hiccup.  _ I still have this, _ he thinks to himself.  _ At least I still have this. _

And that’s even worse, isn’t it? Because Izuku has all of these people who  _ want _ to help him, all of these people who are frustrated with him, who wish that he’d just  _ tell _ them what was wrong. Aizawa, for one, but also his mom and Neito and Todoroki and Kacchan and  _ so _ many more people. Izuku thinks that Shinsou, even, with their tentative new friendship, would want to help him, if he knew what Izuku’s going through. 

Izuku can’t tell them, though. He can’t even tell Nighteye and Aizawa as Ace, can’t tell them that he’s died for Mouse before, that he’s died in front of them. They see him as a kid, as a  _ child _ to be protected. They don’t understand that Izuku, with his horrible power, isn’t  _ just _ a vigilante, isn’t  _ just _ a hero in training. They don’t understand that he’s useless, without this. That if he didn’t have this power, he couldn’t do anything at all.

Izuku swallows back the sob building in his throat, turning and letting himself flop down onto the bed. He isn’t sure if he feels rotten because it’s so late at night, because he hasn’t slept properly in months, or if it’s because he’d gone from Fury to puking in the bathroom to killing himself in front of pro heroes. Izuku doesn’t know anything, anymore. He feels like he’s losing control of this, of all of this. Keeping Ace secret had been something he’d  _ chosen _ , at first. He couldn’t tell people about his quirk, but he could tell them about Mulligan, couldn’t he? He could have applied to UA with a quirk and could have told Aizawa that he was Ace the moment Aizawa promised not to arrest him. 

Except now, Izuku knows that he can’t tell Aizawa. He knows that the Gekkeiju would find out, because there’s no way Aizawa would let him leave for weekend trips if he’s going right to a villain base, to be tortured. Izuku would miss a couple of meetings, and even though Aizawa and Nighteye and everyone else would try really, really hard to save Mouse and Angel, they wouldn’t get there, not before the Gekkeiju killed them or hurt them or  _ something _ , something that would be all Izuku’s fault because he couldn’t keep his stupid mouth shut.

Izuku feels like he’s drowning. He sobs into the palm of his hand, trying not to make too much noise as tears roll down his face and onto his bedspread. He knows that Shinsou is up late, most nights, and he doesn’t want the other student to find out, to come to talk to Izuku or try to ask what’s wrong.  _ I couldn’t even tell him, could I? _ Izuku is so deep in this web of lies and secrets and hidden things that he’s trapped, that he can’t move an inch. He wishes there was a way out, but there isn’t.

Izuku screws his eyes shut as the realization hits him. He doesn’t have  _ any _ way out, not even the way that most people have, even when they have no other choice. Izuku couldn’t kill himself to escape. He couldn’t commit suicide and hope that there’s an afterlife that treats him better than the real world did. Izuku can’t get out. He’s really, truly, stuck.

Izuku tries to suck in a breath, but it turns into a wheeze, whistling around the hand that’s pressed over his mouth.  _ I wish I could kill myself, _ he realizes.  _ I wish I could die, for real. _ Something burns in his chest when he thinks that, because it’s something that he hasn’t thought, hasn’t  _ really _ thought about dying for real, not since he first jumped from that roof after talking with All Might. And even then, even that time, he’d done it half hoping that he came back, hadn’t he? Izuku hasn’t felt this pit in the bottom of his gut, this feeling over just wanting everything to  _ stop _ , to slow to a halt and never pick back up, since he found his quirk. 

The only thing that Izuku can think to do is to kill himself, of course. He lies on his bed, crying through the fingers he has covering his mouth, and he thinks about hanging himself, about slitting his wrists and bleeding out, slowly. He thinks about taking something, like that time with the pills, or maybe combining all three methods. Izuku wants to do something drastic, something that would hurt his body, something that would tear him up and rip him to shreds. He wants something that will give him that rush of endorphins, that release.

Izuku also wants to die. He wants to die and stay dead, and he isn’t sure of how his quirk works. He’s never killed himself and hoped that he  _ stayed _ down before, never even thought it, and Izuku doesn’t know if just wanting it on some level will keep him dead. He doesn’t know if he would come back or not, if he were to kill himself, now, and it makes his chest feel tight and sick. The only way he knows to handle this, to deal with himself when he’s a mess like this, is to hurt himself, to kill himself and rewind, reset. And now he isn’t even sure he can do that. Is it worth the risk, of him not coming back at all? Is it worth the chance of escaping before he has the chance to really think it through, to be  _ sure _ ? Izuku doesn’t know. 

Izuku forces a deep breath into his lungs, thick and heavy and sitting there like iron coating his chest. He pulls himself upright, pulls himself into a sitting position so slowly that he’s starting to wonder if he’ll die of dehydration from crying before he manages to do what he wants to. He steps off of the bed, hand still pressed to his mouth to stop himself from making any noise, and he slips out of his room, unlocking and locking the door behind him with shaking fingers.

The hallway is dark and quiet, and the only lights illuminating the space are the line of small, emergency lights that trail along the bottom corner where the wall meets the floor. Izuku walks, quickly, through the hallway and to the stairs, taking them two at a time. He doesn’t really care if he trips; it’s only one flight of stairs, for one, and it’s not like it would be a bad injury, for him. Izuku hurries through the common area, grateful that it’s empty. He’s not surprised, really; he’s probably the only one in 1-A messed up enough to be having a mental breakdown right now.

Izuku tugs open the door to the outside, and he realizes that he’s barefoot, still, when the concrete of the stairs rubs roughly on the bottoms of his feet. Izuku uses the sensation to ground him, as he hurries from 1-A’s dorm to the next door building, 1-B’s. He’s only been here a few times, but he knows where Neito’s room is by heart, if only from all of the times that Neito complains about having to have upstairs neighbors  _ and _ having to climb so many stairs. There’s nobody in this common room, either. It’s identical to 1-A’s dorm, so Izuku knows exactly where to go to run up the stairs. He clenches his teeth at the echoing noises of footsteps, and he slows down the closer and closer he gets to the fourth floor. When he finally steps off of the stairs, walking to the end of the hall where he knows Neito’s room is, he’s shuffling his feet, anxiety building in his chest.

_ This is stupid _ , Izuku thinks, pulling his hand away from his mouth and taking a shaky breath as he stares at Neito’s door. He’s died so many times before; the fact that he wants to die now isn’t anything special. This isn’t Neito’s problem, either, and Izuku doesn’t want to burden him with this, doesn’t want to put this on Neito’s shoulders. 

But the thing is, Izuku knows that if he leaves now, if he goes back down the stairs and across the short distance to his building, if he goes back to his room and locks the door, he  _ will _ hurt himself. He’ll cut his upper arms open, watch the blood flow down and drip off onto the floor. He’ll slice open his wrists, just enough that he’ll die, but not enough for it to be quick. While he waits, he’ll carve himself up with his knives, the same ones he’s supposed to use to protect people. Izuku isn’t sure that what he’s done, so far, has protected  _ anyone _ . All he’s done is give Mouse new threats, threats of her losing an arm and being in pain if Izuku messes up. All he’s done is give Aizawa pain, made him worry about Izuku when Izuku isn’t worthy of that. Izuku  _ can’t die. _ Nobody should worry about him; there’s no point.

Izuku takes a slow, deep breath, and he knocks on Neito’s door, rapping his knuckles against the wood. He’s worried, for a moment, that he’s knocked too quietly for Neito to hear him, but then he hears a groan from within the room. He swallows down the guilt that he feels, because he’s clearly just woken Neito up.

“Comin’” Neito says, his voice slurred with sleep, and then Izuku hears shuffling in the room. He waits for a moment, hearing the lock turn before a sleepy-looking Neito opens the door, wearing a white t-shirt and a pair of sleep shorts made of soft grey fabric. He rubs at his eyes, already speaking as the door opens.

“Kendou, I’m sleeping, I--” Neito cuts himself off, his face quickly morphing from something like sleepy confusion to alarm. “Izuku?” He opens the door wider, taking a step out, towards Izuku. “What’s wrong?” Izuku swallows.

“C-Can I come in?” Izuku asks, shifting on his feet. “I-I was--I was going to--” he shakes his head, biting his lip, and Neito is already stepping back, opening the door and letting Izuku in. His brows are knitted together, above his blue eyes, as he shuts the door behind Izuku.

“Were you--were you going to kill yourself?” Neito asks, his voice hushed. Izuku nods, his head bobbing shakily.

“Y-Yeah,” Izuku breathes, and Neito sucks in a sharp breath. 

“Can I hug you?” Neito asks, and Izuku nods again, quickly. Neito doesn’t waste a moment, leaning forward and pulling Izuku into his arms, his hands gripping tightly to the back of Izuku’s shirt. Izuku ignores the prickling, crawling dread that fills him at the touch of another person, instead focusing on matching his breathing to Neito’s. He wraps his arms around Neito, too, soaking in the other boy’s warmth, and he lets himself breathe for a moment before Neito speaks, murmuring into the top of Izuku’s head.

“Did something happen?” he asks, quiety, his breath warm on Izuku’s scalp. Izuku grips Neito tighter, his arms wrapped around Neito’s chest. 

“Yeah, but I-I can’t--I can’t tell you about it,” Izuku says, miserably. He can hear the fear in his own voice, can hear it in the quiver and the hesitance in his tone. Neito’s hands grip harder in the back of Izuku’s shirt, pulling him closer into Neito’s chest.

“Okay,” Neito says, breathing out. “Okay. You were going to kill yourself,” he says, and Izuku knows he’s meant to confirm or deny. He nods.

“I-I was, but I didn’t--I didn’t  _ want _ to,” Izuku says, his voice cracking. Neito nods, and Izuku can feel the motion against his skin.

“Izuku, you need help,” Neito says, quietly. “You can’t-- _ I _ can’t deal with this alone.” Izuku can  _ hear _ Neito swallow, can feel it, too. “You have to tell someone, at least about the self harm. You can--you can tell Hound Dog that you’re hurting yourself, that’s what the suicide is for you, right? Because you don’t actually die.” Izuku swallows.  _ I can’t tell him that I want to die for  _ real _ , I can’t. It’s too much to ask of him. _

“I-I guess,” Izuku says, his voice wet. “I don’t--I don’t want to talk to Hound Dog,” he says, and Neito’s hands relax from where they’re clenched in Izuku shirt, moving to rub circles on his back instead.

“Have you had your mandatory session already?” Neito asks. “You could tell him then.” Izuku swallows.

“I-I already had it, and I--I just convinced him everything was fine.” Izuku bites at his lower lip, leaning more heavily into his friend. “I-I’m sorry, I should--I should have just--”

“Don’t apologize for coming here instead,” Neito says, his voice quick and harsh. “Don’t you dare.” He pulls Izuku in as Izuku tries to pull back slightly, and Izuku lets him. “I’m not saying this because I don’t  _ care _ , Izuku, but I can’t--I’m not qualified to help you with this, you know that, right?” Neito sighs. “You’ve met Hound Dog, you know he’s nice. You can--you can tell him, and he can help.”

“I can’t tell him everything,” Izuku says, and he knows that that means far more than even  _ Neito _ knows. Izuku feels like he’s sinking into a pit of bubbling tar, unable to even move for the black sinking into his soul. Even Neito can’t know everything, and Neito can’t help him. 

“You can tell him  _ something _ ,” Neito says. Izuku sobs, wetly, into Neito’s shoulder, and Neito shushes him quietly, on hand moving up to rest, warm and comfortable on the back of Izuku’s neck. His other hand keeps rubbing slow, soothing circles into Izuku’s back as Neito holds him.

“When I was in middle school,” Neito starts, his voice quiet and hesitant. “I almost--I almost killed myself.” It’s almost a whisper, but Izuku hears it. He pulls back, looking at Neito’s face, at the pain in his features.

“Neito--” Izuku starts, but Neito shakes his head, cutting him off.

“I almost killed myself, but I told my older brother instead,” Neito says, quietly, “and he told my parents and made me get help. Vlad-sensei knows, and so does Hound Dog,” Neito continues, and Izuku watches the tears build in his friend’s blue eyes. “And it helps, Izuku. It doesn’t fix it, but it  _ helps _ . And I--I’m worried that if I don’t make  _ you  _ get help, it’s going to end with you dead for real,” he says, his voice trailing off into a whisper at the end. Izuku stares at him, watching the tears spill out of his blue eyes, rolling onto his cheeks and down his face, and Izuku feels like he’s been punched in the gut. 

“Okay,” Izuku says, because he can’t hurt Neito like this, not anymore. “I’ll--I’ll talk to Hound Dog. And Aizawa-sensei,” Izuku whispers. He hadn’t even  _ asked _ . Neito had been so patient, so kind with him, and Izuku hadn’t even asked if Neito had the same problems that he did, if Neito was okay. Izuku has been so, so selfish. He watches, with guilt burning hot and ugly in his gut, as Neito’s lips quirk into a small smile, and he pulls Izuku in tight.

“Good,” he says, and Izuku is squeezed into his chest. “Izuku, I--you’re my best friend, okay? You saved my life, and now, we just--you just make me happy.” He laughs, something thick with tears. “And I can’t lose you. So you  _ have _ to take care of yourself.” Izuku nods into his neck, letting Neito hug him tight and hold him. Izuku let's Neito hold him, and it feel so good that Izuku can’t take it. He can’t bear what he’s doing, that he’s still lying to Neito, even, out of everyone. That nobody, not even his closest friend, knows the truth, the  _ whole  _ truth. 

Izuku realizes, as his friend holds him and talks him down from hurting himself, that he is well and truly alone. 

\--

When Izuku drags himself out of bed the next morning, his head is pounding from lack of sleep and his eyes are sore from crying so much. He feels like a towel that’s been wrung out, like he’s been put through a meat grinder for his emotions. He pulls himself from his bed, letting the light that leaks out from behind his curtain wash over him. He tugs the curtain open just a few feet, looking out the window and over the balcony, at the forested part of the campus, where he’s hiding his knives and his costume. 

Izuku takes a slow, deep breath, and he steels himself. He dresses in the clothing he needs to wear for the day in a haze. He’d never ended up purchasing a summer uniform at all, and now that it’s getting colder, the longer sleeves of the winter uniform aren’t as hard to bear as before. Izuku knows that he’d grow cold in the classroom, without them, or at least that’s what he tells himself as he tugs his shirt on, yanking it down over the bandages on his arms, still there from when Fury had cleaned him up. He feels kind of sick, looking at them. Neito hadn’t let him go last night, not until Izuku was feeling better, until he promised that he wouldn’t hurt himself, not even a little bit. 

Izuku kind of wishes he had, but he can’t bring himself to hurt his friend in that way. His mind is still heavy with what he’d put together last night, what he’d finally admitted to himself. Izuku is alone. No matter how much people care about him, no matter how much he’s willing to help others, to protect them, he’s separated from them by the barrier he’s built, that he has no choice but to leave up. Izuku will be alone, until he can finally, finally save Mouse from the Gekkeiju. 

Izuku gets through his classes in a haze. It feels like he’s in another world from his body, like he’s existing on a separate plane altogether. He drifts through his classes, writing messy, illegible notes that he knows don’t make any sense. He doesn’t raise his hand, doesn’t answer questions even when he knows the answers to them. He just doesn’t see the point. He’s so far away from his classmates. They’ve been through so much, with the USJ and the attack on the training camp, but it still doesn’t compare to what Izuku’s been through in this same short time. 

Izuku figures this will end with him dead, anyway. He doubts that he’ll be the one to finally do himself in, since he’s not even sure if resetting over and over again would be enough to kill him for real, or if he just would get sicker. At the end of all of this, though, he’s sure someone will do  _ something _ to put him down. He’ll have his quirk taken and he’ll be killed, or he’ll get tied up in some basement somewhere, doomed to reset in the prison over and over again with no escape. Why would he need to pay attention in English? Why would he need to focus in hero ethics? Izuku just stares at the board as all of his teachers lecture, and he lets himself drift, distant and faded in his own mind.

It’s at the end of hero ethics, Izuku’s last class of the day on Wednesdays, that Izuku is going to finally,  _ finally _ be able to do what he hadn’t done last night. He’ll open a vein or two, sit in his dorm room, and let himself bleed out until he doesn’t feel so rotten anymore, until he doesn’t feel fuzzy and sick and strange. He’ll hurt himself until he isn’t daydreaming of Heaven and of dying for real. He’ll cut the guilt and the pain and the hurt out of himself, if that’s what it takes.

Except, as Izuku stands and starts to collect his things, stacking his notebook and the handout Aizawa had given them on top of one another, he hears Aizawa clear his throat from the front of the room. Izuku knows that he’s lagging behind, that his classmates have, for the most part, left to return back to the dorms, but he doesn’t think he has it in him to rush. He glances up at his teacher.

“Midoriya,” Aizawa says, a hint of a crease to his brow. “Is everything okay? You’ve been unusually quiet today,” he says, and Izuku can’t help but feel a pang of  _ something _ in his chest, like butterflies in his stomach at the fact that his teacher cares. Izuku wishes he could tell him the truth, but the lies feel like a prison around him, like bricks weighing down heavy on his shoulders.

“I’m...” Izuku starts to say that he’s okay, but then he remembers what Neito had said to him last night, about therapy. What Izuku had promised he would do. Izuku doesn’t want to add one more lie to the ever-growing mountain of them. 

“Can--can I have another session with Hound Dog?” Izuku asks, his throat dry and his words raspy from it. He sees concern on Aizawa’s face, and his teacher steps out from behind his desk, taking a few steps toward Izuku. Izuku hopes that he doesn’t try to touch Izuku--Izuku is too tired to deal with the way that he’ll freak out, if that happens. 

“Of course you can,” Aizawa answers, carefully, slowly. “Can I ask what’s going on? I understand that Hound Dog thought you were stable and didn’t need additional sessions.” Izuku swallows, looking at the surface of his desk instead of at his teacher.

“I... I lied to him, um the--the whole session,” Izuku says. “I’m not--I’m not okay at all, right now,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. He hears Aizawa sigh, something dark and worried on his face, in the crease of his brows and the way his lips thin slightly. 

“Thank you for telling me, Midoriya,” Aizawa says. “I’ll let him know right away, but I have to ask, are you safe right now?” Izuku blinks, looking up at him.

“What--what do you mean?” he asks. Aizawa stares at him seriously. 

“Are you currently in danger of hurting yourself?” Aizawa asks. Izuku stares back at him.

“I don’t--I don’t think so,” Izuku says, his voice small, because he wants to confide in Aizawa, wants to tell his teacher that the only thing he wants to do right now is hurt himself over and over and over again, but he also doesn’t want Aizawa to  _ stop _ him from doing that. He wants the comfort and the reassurances, and then he wants to hurt himself anyway. 

“I have some papers to grade,” Aizawa says, watching Izuku carefully. “It would make me feel better if you hung out with me, just for a little while,” he says. Izuku nods, shakily.

“I-I don’t think I can talk about it,” Izuku says, and Aizawa’s face stays flat as he watches Izuku.

“That’s fine,” Aizawa says, turning back to his desk and picking up his bag. “Does the common room of your dorm work okay, or would you prefer we go somewhere more private?” Aizawa asks, slinging the strap of his bag over his shoulder. Izuku’s seen him hanging out in the common area of their dorm plenty before, and it wouldn’t look too odd if Izuku stayed in the common area, too.

“That works f-for me,” Izuku says. He follows his teacher back to the dorms, and Aizawa stays with him for a few hours, until it’s getting late and Izuku reassures him that he’s feeling better, that he’s fine. Even if Izuku kills himself that night, he thinks he feels a little better by the time he goes to bed than when he’d woken up. 

\--

Going out as Ace that night probably isn’t a good idea, but Izuku isn’t sure he has much of a choice. He needs to start gathering information on the two kids he’d been tasked with investigating, or Mouse would  _ definitely  _ suffer for it. Or him, but Izuku has honestly just kind of accepted that as the reality of his situation, at this point. He’s going to mess up with Fury, going to misread some subtle clue or react wrong, and Fury will hurt him. It’s better if he expects it, so he isn't’ caught off guard.

Knowing that he doesn’t have a choice doesn’t exactly erase the guilt that burns heavy in Izuku’s stomach as he watches the Uegaki’s house, laying down on top of a roof not far from their house. It’s a nicely sized family home, and Izuku can see lights on in one of the upstairs bedrooms, despite the fact that it’s well past midnight. He’s not sure if it’s Shinsuke’s parents or an older sibling, though, because the files on the kids had only talked about the parents and their quirks, not the actual structure of the families. It’s only been one evening, but Izuku can already tell that Shinsuke and the Uegakis will be safe--safe enough, anyway.

He’d gotten the impression that the Gekkeiju wants kids who won’t be missed, who won’t create a large investigation into the disappearances, and Shinsuke Uegaki would definitely raise at least  _ some _ fuss. His family has to have had money at some point, for one thing, to have a two story home with a yard in this part of the city. That, and there are three cars parked in the driveway, and there could be another in the closed garage. Izuku bets that Shinsuke has at least one older sibling who’s an adult, and both of his parents at home. It doesn’t mean that Shinsuke’s life is nice or pretty or easy, but it means that someone will notice if he’s gone. The happy, smiling four-year old in the picture probably won’t be a viable target for the Gekkeiju.

Izuku watches, letting his eyes slide half-closed as a breeze rolls over the yard, rustling the trees in the backyard. Izuku wonders how a family like this, with a nice house and nice cars, ended up using the free quirk counseling at Death Arm’s place. Did something happen, that cost them their money? Did somebody get injured, or lose a job? It makes Izuku’s heart ache in his chest, because it reminds him that even if he saves people from villains, even if he stops people from being beaten or robbed in alleyways, he can’t save everyone from everything. Sometimes, when bad things happen, they are unfair and unavoidable and silent. Sometimes, when bad things happen, they are to good people with good intentions. 

Izuku feels like it’ll be okay to tell the Gekkeiju the truth about Shinsuke Uegaki. He can only hope that the other child on the target list is as secure as Shinsuke is. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: suicidal thoughts (like, fr suicide), self harm, dissociation
> 
> [discord!](https://discord.gg/seuCkscYSY) (read rules, 16+ only)
> 
> i hope you enjoyed!!!!! ik it probably doesn't feel like it but we actually are progressing through plot dfjghdkfj


	67. talent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku has a mental breakdown. he talks to neito and then to aizawa, who agrees to get him help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pog sorry this is shorter than usual i need to do homed work

Izuku feels his face already starting to burn with embarrassment as he steps into Hound Dog’s office through the open door. Hound Dog is watching him, his paws neatly folded over one another and reading glasses low on his snout. He gives Izuku a warm smile when he walks in.

“Hi, Midoriya,” Hound Dog says. “I’m glad you could make it in to see me today. Why don’t you have a seat, and we can get started?” He waves a paw at the same seat that Izuku had sat in last time, and Izuku sits down, hesitantly. Hound Dog doesn’t look impatient, not in the slightest.

“Um,” Izuku starts, swallowing to clear the stickiness of anxiety from his throat. “What did--what did Aizawa-sensei tell you?” 

“Just that you had let him know that you weren’t doing well and that you wanted to have another appointment with me,” Hound Dog says, his voice light and friendly. “Why don’t you tell me a little bit about what’s going on?” Izuku nods, shakily, and he looks down to his hands in his lap. 

“I, uh--last time, I wasn’t--I wasn’t completely honest,” Izuku says, chewing on his lower lip. “Neito, um, he t-told me that I should talk to you, and I-I thought--I thought I should give it another try,” he says, twisting his hands together in his lap. Hound Dog nods, humming thoughtfully.

“I’m glad that you decided to come back, then. Would you be able to tell me what you weren’t honest about?” he asks, and when Izuku looks up at him, his face is as warm and non-judgemental as always.

“You’re n-not mad at me?” Izuku asks. “For--for lying?” Hound dog shakes his head.

“No, I’m not,” Hound Dog says, simply. “I’m just happy that you’ve decided to be honest, now. I want you to get whatever help you need, and that’s it. It doesn’t bother me if you lied in the past.” He gives Izuku an encouraging smile, and Izuku nods, taking a shaky breath in through his mouth.

“O-Okay,” Izuku says. “I, um. I’m still--I’m still hurting myself,” he says. It feels like a heavy weight in his throat, like something big and ugly he has to spit up. He wants to take it back the moment he says it, wants to run from this and lie and keep it all close to his chest. He’s not used to being honest, and it's too vulnerable for him, too exposed. 

“I’m sorry to hear that, but I’m glad you told me,” Hound Dog says, calmly, his voice without any hint of judgement. Izuku feels judged, anyway. “Do you mind telling me how you’ve been hurting yourself?” Izuku swallows.

“I-I, um. I would--I don’t want to say,” he says, looking down at his lap and twisting his fingers together. The pressure on his fingers helps him, brings him back to his body, helps to soothe his breathing. He hears a soft sound of a drawer opening, and Izuku glances up to see Hound Dog producing a stress ball from a drawer in his desk. It’s one of the clear ones, with the smaller, squishy beads inside, and the beads are a mixture of green and blue. Hound Dog holds it out, offering it to him, and Izuku takes it.

“T-Thanks,” he says, softly, and Hound Dog gives him a slight smile.

“You’re welcome,” he says. “And you don’t have to tell me anything you’re not comfortable with, okay?” He gives Izuku a reassuring smile, and Izuku nods, hesitantly as he starts to fidget with the stress ball instead of twisting his fingers together like he normally does. The stress ball feels different, but Izuku isn’t sure if it’s worse or not yet.

“Okay,” Izuku says, quietly. Hound Dog nods. 

“So, to start off with, I do want to ask you if you’ve been at all considering or thinking about suicide. I know that it can be scary to answer that question, but it’s really important for your safety that, if you’re suicidal, we get you help right away, okay?” Hound Dog says, and Izuku nods, shakily. He knows how he has to answer this; he can’t continue what he’s doing to save Mouse if he’s in hospital, after all. 

“I’m not suicidal,” Izuku says, his voice small but clear. Hound Dog nods, that small smile still on his face.

“I’m glad to hear that, Midoriya,” Hound Dog says. “With that out of the way, do you mind telling why you harm yourself?” Izuku must make a face, because Hound Dog clarifies, “Knowing why you self harm will make it easier for us to figure out how to move you towards stopping.” Izuku nods, shaky.

“I, um, I-I like how it feels,” he says, staring at the stress ball he holds in his lap. “It’s--it feels good. I know that’s strange, but that’s why.” 

“That’s a common experience,” Hound Dog says. “People wouldn’t do it if it didn’t make them feel better.” He gives Izuku a reassuring smile. “Is it something you do when you’re feeling bad, then?” Izuku nods, slowly.

“It’s, um, I do it when I’m upset, mostly,” he says, squishing the stress ball between his fingers, feeling the little jelly beads inside sliding and moving. “It helps to calm--to calm me down,” Izuku says. He wonders if he could pop one of these beads, if he tried hard enough. 

“It sounds like you’re using it as a coping mechanism, to help regulate your emotions,” Hound Dog says. “Does that sound right to you?” Izuku nods.

“Y-Yeah, it does,” he says. Hound Dog leans forward, making a note on his paper. “I, um, kind of don’t want to stop?” Izuku swallows, biting on the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t look to see what expression Hound Dog is making, but he’s sure it can’t be good.

“That makes perfect sense, considering that it helps you to feel better,” Hound Dog says. “I’d like to work on getting you some alternative coping methods, things that don’t hurt you, and we can work on slowly weaning you off of the self harm and replacing it with other things that make you feel better.” He taps his pen against the paper. “Is that okay?” Izuku keeps his eyes on his lap, on the stress ball.

“I’m willing to--to give it a try,” Izuku says. He doubts that any coping mechanism that Hound Dog gives him could work as well as bleeding out does, but he’s not going to tell Hound Dog that he doesn’t believe it’ll work. It feels kind of stupid, to be sitting here and talking about getting Izuku healthier coping mechanisms, when Izuku is going to get hurt either way, either by himself or someone else.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Hound Dog says. “And let me know if something we try isn’t working, okay?” He gives Izuku a soft smile. “I don’t want to waste your time on something that isn’t helping you.” Izuku nods, shakily.

“I guess I-I just wish that I didn’t--didn’t feel bad in the first place,” Izuku says. He clenches one hand on the stress ball, squeezing it hard. “It’s dumb. I-I don’t--I don’t have a reason to be this upset all the time,” he says. Izuku shouldn’t be this upset. He should be stronger than this. He’s not the one who’s being kept in solitary isolation, not the one who’s getting her arms burned and being forced to kill people with her quirk. 

“Your feelings aren’t dumb,” Hound Dog says, his voice soft but firm. “Sometimes, you may not understand why you feel an emotion, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t valid or that it doesn’t serve a purpose.” Izuku nods, not looking up at him.

“R-Right,” Izuku says. His throat feels too tight. Hound Dog seems to notice, because he doesn’t say anything for a moment, like he’s letting Izuku catch his breath.

“Midoriya,” he says after that pause, his voice gentle. “I know that it’s hard to deal with this, and I know it feels like there’s a lot being thrown at you all at once, but things  _ will _ improve. It just takes time.” Izuku clanges up at Hound Dog, sees the serious look on his face.

“Okay,” Izuku says, because he doesn’t know how else to respond.

“Okay,” Hound Dog echoes, a soft smile on his lips. “To start with, I want you to try and think about what else you could do instead of self harm. Things like taking a shower, or making hot tea, that aren’t harmful to you but might make you feel better. I want you to have ten things by our meeting next week, okay?” Izuku nods.

“I-I’ll try,” Izuku replies. He thinks he’ll give it a shot, just on the off chance that it helps, but it feels pointless to Izuku. It feels like a stupid exercise, like a stupid game. He feels like a stupid kid as he leaves Hound Dog’s office after the session wraps up, that stupid stress ball still gripped in his hands.

\--

Izuku is thankful for the fact that Aizawa isn’t treating him any different during training, even though Izuku had told him he wasn’t doing well, and he’s pretty sure that Aizawa is worried about him. Aizawa still gives him orders as usual, still tells him when there’s something off about his form or when he does something that could get him hurt later on. Izuku appreciates it; he doesn’t want to be treated like he’s fragile, when he really isn’t.

They’ve only just finished warming up today, and Izuku is stretching his arms out in front of him, with Shinsou leaning down to touch his toes beside Izuku when the door to the gym opens, letting in some of the bright afternoon sunlight. Izuku has to squint to make out who’s walking inside, but even backlit, Ema and Haruta’s ears give them away. Maka is just behind them, wielding a popsicle. Izuku’s seen her with a lot of those, lately, and he wonders if they’ll slow down as the weather cools off. 

“I was starting to wonder if you three had gotten lost,” Aizawa says, turning to look at them. Aizawa, Shinsou, and Izuku are standing in the middle of the foam-mat area of the gym, barefoot. Izuku and Shinsou are in their sports uniforms, and Aizawa is in a white t-shirt and grey sweats, his capture weapon wound around his neck. 

“Nah,” Maka says, sighing. “I needed to shower,” she says, and Izuku can tell that her short brown curls are damp. She’s wearing the sports uniform, too, but Ema and Haruta are dressed in casual clothing, much like Aizawa is. 

“Did something happen?” Aizawa asks, his gaze sharpening. Izuku recognizes that look, a mixture of concern and alarm that means Aizawa is trying to decide if he needs to be scolding someone or protecting them. Maka shrugs lazily, taking a bite out of her popsicle, the inside of her mouth stained bright cherry red from the dye.

“Nothing important,” Maka says. “It’s fine now, so you can stop worrying. You’re going to get even more wrinkles if you keep making that face.” She raises an eyebrow at Aizawa, her lips quirking up in a smirk. Aizawa sighs, rolling his eyes.

“You’re lucky I can’t give you detention anymore,” he says, his eyes moving over the whole group. “I want to work on a couple of different things today. I heard about the quirk training you were working on with Shinsou last time, and I want that to continue,” Aizawa says, his dark eyes moving to look at Shinsou. Izuku watches as Shinsou grimaces slightly.

“I don’t know if--” Shinsou starts, but Ema cuts him off. 

“Yes, let’s do it!” she says, pumping a fist in the air, her whiskers twitching. “I’ve been dying to see what else you can do.” Shinsou glances over to her. Aizawa watches the interaction for a moment, and Izuku thinks he’s waiting for something. After a moment, Shinsou sighs.

“Fine,” he says. “I guess I could use some more practice.” His voice is a low grumble, but he doesn't look that unhappy about it, really. Izuku wonders if his hesitance is because of the reputation his quirk has given him or if it’s because of the headache he had last time, after practicing. Izuku doesn’t get much time to think about it, though, because Aizawa is turning to Izuku.

“I want you to work on parkour and stealth,” Aizawa says. “I reviewed some of the notes from the provisional license exam, and it seems you have talent in both of those areas. I want to see it firsthand.” He glances over Izuku, and Izuku can feel a hint of a flush creeping up his face. 

“O-Okay,” Izuku says. Aizawa glances over to the second years. 

“Maka, you’ll be with us,” he says. “Are you going to be fine with doing physical activity?” Izuku watches as Maka narrows her eyes at him, crimson shining behind long, dark lashes.

“I’ll be better than fine,” she says, her voice thick with annoyance. “Better question is whether or not Midoriya will be okay if I start sweating,” she glances over to Izuku. 

“I-I can’t smell your quirk at all right now,” Izuku says, meeting her gaze. “But I-I think I’ll be okay. I’m kinda--kinda used to being afraid?” he offers up. Maka snorts, but she seems to relax slightly.

“It’s not normal fear, but I’ll believe you,” she says, reaching up a hand to push a curl off of her forehead. “My quirk is actually pretty useful to train with, if you can handle it,” she says. “Gives you practice working in a high stress situation.” 

“That it does,” Aizawa says. Izuku looks back over to his teacher. “Maka, you’ll be chasing Midoriya through the simulation city.” He jerks a thumb back, at the other half of this gym. It’s been in the form of a fake city for about a week now, courtesy of Cementoss. “Midoriya, your goal will be to make it fifteen minutes without getting caught. Maka, your goal is to catch and restrain him. No weapons,” he adds, looking between the two of them. “I don’t want to have to take either of you to the infirmary.” Izuku nods, glancing over at Maka. He remembers that she had said she uses brass knuckles and a bo staff, but he doesn’t think he’s actually seen her using either. 

“You got it, teach,” Maka says, lazily giving a salute. Izuku hears Aizawa sigh. 

“I’ll be watching you two, mostly,” he says, then casts a glance over to the side where Shinsou, Haruta, and Ema have gathered into a small circle and started talking. “I think they’ll manage fine on their own. Ema won’t stop emailing me about it, so I know she has ideas.” Aizawa sighs, looking back over to Izuku and Maka before he turns, starting to walk towards the simulation city in the back of the gym. Izuku follows behind him, with Maka more or less even at his side, one of her hands on her hip and the other hanging at her side.

“I heard you got your license,” Maka says, looking at him out of the sides of her eyes. “Congrats.” Izuku blinks, looking for some sign of insincerity in her face, but there doesn’t seem to be any.

“T-Thanks,” he says, biting at his lower lip. Maka just grunts in reply, turning her gaze forward again. It doesn’t take long for them to get to the city, and when they do, Aizawa turns back to look at them, his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants.

“Alright,” Aizawa says. “I’ll be following you two, but I’ll try not to get in the way. Midoriya, I’ll give you a thirty second headstart. Go,” he says, tipping his head back at the mock city. Izuku doesn’t waste any time, taking off along the street in front of him and turning right on the first intersection he sees. 

_ If I want to win, I’ll have to make it hard for her to find me in the first place, not just for her to catch me _ . Izuku ducks into the open window of the first building, then runs through it quickly, his sneakers quiet on the concrete floor. Izuku climbs out the window on the other side of the building, using the window ledge to lift himself up, climbing up the side of the building and onto the roof. Izuku grits his teeth as the rough surface of the concrete digs into the pads of his fingers.  _ I should have worn my costume instead _ , he thinks as he hauls himself up. 

He hears when Maka starts to move, in the quick footsteps that echo in the city made entirely of concrete and clear air. Izuku waits for a heartbeat, as she probably turns right, and he jumps from his building to the next one over, effectively putting himself behind her. He doesn’t waste any time, running quickly along the rooftop and over to the next, where he jumps through an open window into what looks to be the second from the top story of the building. The nice thing about Cementoss’s fake cities is that he can’t make glass--so Izuku can jump easily through windows. The problem is that the buildings are simple, unfurnished. If Maka found the right building, she’d find the right room. Izuku needs to put some distance between them and then hide somewhere that either he wouldn’t be found or where he could easily escape from.

Izuku takes a second to catch his breath. It’ll likely take Maka a few moments to notice that he’d ended up behind her, and when she does, she’ll asume he’s further than he is. He walks carefully, quietly, to a corner of the room where a staircase blocks him from the view of any of the windows. It’s not a perfect solution--Izuku will have to move again soon--but Izuku only has to keep this up for fifteen minutes. If he can keep himself hidden for five in each spot, he can minimize the amount of time he has to be moving, saving his energy in case Maka ends up fighting him. Izuku’s not totally sure he could beat her in a fight unarmed. 

Izuku waits, listening as the sound of his own heartbeat grows slower, calmer. He doesn’t hear much except for the air conditioning and the buzz of the lights in the ceiling. Izuku strains his ears, but he doesn’t hear anything that could be Maka moving, and it sends an arrow of apprehension through his heart. He can’t know where he is if he doesn’t hear her, and he doesn’t  _ want _ her to find him, not when she--

_ I can feel her quirk _ , Izuku realizes.  _ That means she’s close _ , Izuku thinks. She must have been running a little, for enough of her sweat to be released for the faint smell of baking bread to drift through the air. There’s no wind, because it’s a gym, but Izuku takes a step to one side, and the smell grows stronger. He steps back the opposite way, and it seems weaker. Izuku takes a steadying breath and heads in the direction with less of her scent. He hops out of the window and onto the rooftop of a shorter building below. 

Izuku is greeted almost immediately by a punch aimed at his face. Maka is crouched on the rooftop, behind something that Izuku thinks is supposed to be a fake air conditioning unit. She’s shirtless, with a black sports bra the only thing covering her upper body, and Izuku puts together right away what had happened--Maka had set a trap. 

“Hey, freckles,” Maka says, a grin on her face, her red eyes shining. “You ready to play?” Izuku swallows, biting at his lower lip. He steps forward, feinting a kick that Maka easily dodges. Izuku starts to run as she’s distracted, his feet slapping against the concrete.  _ I’ve got to put some distance between us _ .

“Later!” Izuku calls back as he jumps from the roof. The building is only two story, so Izuku rolls with the landing and all he gets from it is a sore spot on his shoulder, the bone there stinging as he rolls to his feet and starts to run. Izuku hears Maka swear, and when he casts a glance over his shoulder, she’s climbing down from the roof. Izuku thinks that that buys him at least a couple of seconds to hide, and he sees a long, short building up ahead, probably meant to be some kind of store. Izuku hops through a window and runs into the dark building.

The building is full of concrete shelves, plain rectangular blocks that give the fake store aisles but not much else. Izuku takes a breath and runs quickly through the store, getting himself towards the back of the building. He can see windows on this side, too, but they open up into a wide, empty area with a few concrete trees--a park. Izuku doesn’t think he’ll be able to outrun or out fight Maka without weapons in an open space, so he waits, back pressed against a concrete wall. 

He hears when Maka climbs into the building, the sounds of her footsteps echoing in the space. Izuku takes a slow breath, forcing himself to not make any sound at all. It’s not like there are footprints for Maka to follow, and the fake store is huge; she’ll have a hard time finding him in here unless she checks every aisle.  _ And she won’t do that unless she thinks I stayed in here. _ It’s a gamble, but it’s one that Izuku is willing to take. 

Maka’s footsteps are fast, and Izuku can hear them move across the store. He doesn’t sigh with relief when her footsteps lead up to a window and disappear, but he thinks about it. She  _ could _ still be in the building, but Izuku doesn’t think it’s likely. Either way, he’ll wait a moment before he slips out, back the way he came in, probably. He doesn’t know how much time has passed, but it’s a solid plan, he thinks. 

Izuku counts his heartbeats to pass the time. He can feel his blood pulsing in his throat, but it’s with exertion and not fear. He can still kind of smell the traces of Maka’s quirk in the building, faint and heady, but Izuku doesn’t feel that burst of fear that he thinks he’s supposed to. Instead, in the way his blood moves fast through his body and the way anticipation builds the longer he waits, Izuku is happy. He feels that exhilaration, that rush of excitement that he hasn't felt in ages, and it reminds him of when he’d first started going out as Ace, when he first started to save people. It sends a rush of happiness through him, and he feels a smile crack across his face.

Izuku slips out from the aisle that he’s hiding in, creeping over to the window he’d come in through. A quick glance around doesn’t reveal anything more than shadows on the uniform, grey concrete, and Izuku moves smoothly out of the building. He tilts his head back, thinking, and then he’s stepping up onto the window. There’s not much in the way of handholds, so it takes him a moment, but Izuku manages to wiggle his way up along the touch surface of the building onto the top. He lays on his belly for a second to let his breathing slow back down to something that isn’t so loud, and then he stands up, moving to the center of the roof. 

The store is only a single story building, but it’s large enough that it gives Izuku a few options of where to go. He can see the tallest building in the simulation city not too far from here, and he knows that it’d be difficult for Maka to climb up there at the same speed that he does, especially given that she has to worry about falling and dying and he doesn’t. Izuku starts for the building when he hears his teacher’s voice.

“Midoriya, it’s been fifteen minutes,” Aizawa says, his voice loud and distant. Izuku blinks, turning in the direction he’d heard the voice from. He can’t see anyone, but Izuku starts in that direction, jogging to the edge of the roof and jumping off. He lands smoothly and hurries along the street, coming up to a bend in the road. There, he sees Aizawa and a very sweaty Maka with what looks like a scrape from falling on concrete on her right elbow. 

“I won?” Izuku asks, because he’s still kind of caught up on the fact that it’s been fifteen minutes already. Aizawa nods, and Maka reaches up and wipes sweat off of her brow with one arm. 

“Yeah, you’re pretty damn quick,” she says. She doesn’t seem out of breath, but she’s definitely covered in a thin layer of sweat, and her skin is flushed slightly. 

“T-Thanks,” Izuku says, not entirely sure of how to respond. He’s starting to be able to smell Maka’s quirk, and it’s making his heart jump into his throat, making his stomach clench uncomfortably. Izuku must show it, somehow, because Maka’s lips start to press into a thin line and she huffs out a breath.

“I’m going to go shower,” she says, starting to turn and walk away, but Aizawa reaches out and grabs her by the upper arm, stopping her. Maka pauses, looking back at Aizawa, but she doesn’t seem all that surprised. There’s a downward quirk to her brow, though like she’s worried or maybe nervous. 

“Stay for a moment. If it becomes a problem, I’ll just erase your quirk,” Aizawa says. Maka hesitates, then nods, taking a step back to stand beside Aizawa, facing Izuku. Aizawa releases her arm, and Izuku can’t help but look at the spot on her arm that his teacher had been holding, looking to see if there’s any redness or anything, but there’s nothing on her pale skin. Izuku feels a twinge in his gut at that, and he hates that he even checked.

“What’s up?” Maka asks, glancing to Aizawa as she crosses her arms over her chest. Izuku glances at Aizawa, who’s looking at Izuku with a steady gaze.

“Midoriya, you have a rare talent for stealth and for parkour,” Aizawa says. Izuku blinks, but Aizawa keeps talking. “I noticed it in earlier exercises, but this confirms it.” Izuku swallows.  _ Does Aizawa know that I’m Ace? Has he put it together? _

“I-I’m not--I’m not that good,” Izuku says, looking down at the ground. Maka snorts.

“Hello? Are you stupid?” She’s rolling her eyes when Izuku looks up at her. “You managed to evade me for fifteen minutes in a tiny model city and I only even  _ saw _ you once. You jumped from the roof of a two story building and onto concrete and not only were you fine, you also kept running.” She sighs, her eyes narrowing slightly. “I’ve been training under Aizawa for at least twice as long as you have. You’ve got a fucking talent. Own it.” Izuku stares at her, feeling his eyes widen slightly. 

“R-Really?” Izuku asks, his voice quiet. Aizawa nods where he’s standing beside Maka.

“Really,” Aizawa says, meeting Izuku’s gaze. “You’re more adept than some pros who have had years of field experience.” Izuku swallows, but doesn’t break eye contact as Aizawa speaks. “I know you’ve spoken before about wanting to be a daylight hero, but have you thought at all about working underground? You would be good at it,” Aizawa says. Izuku stares at him, swallowing, and embarrassingly, he starts to feel tears come to his eyes. He sees Aizawa’s brows furrow slightly for a second before Izuku speaks.

“You--You really mean that?” Izuku asks, his voice thick with happy tears. Aizawa squints at him.

“I do,” Aizawa says. Izuku smiles, reaching up and wiping tears off of his cheeks. 

“I-I’ve never really--never really been told I was t-talented,” Izuku admits, sniffling and beaming up at Aizawa. Beside him, Maka groans. 

“Oh lord,” she says, staring at the ceiling. “He’s crying. ‘Zawa, can I please go?” she asks. Aizawa sighs next to her.

“Yes, Maka, you can go,” he says, his voice thick with annoyance that Izuku knows is at least partially put on. As Maka turns to go, she looks back at Izuku.

“Really though, you should go underground. Everyone on this side of things is  _ way _ smarter,” she says, tapping the side of her forehead with one finger. She gives him a sly smile, and Izuku grins back at her as she turns and walks away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: talk of self harm in the context of therapy
> 
> [discord!](https://discord.gg/seuCkscYSY)
> 
> i hope you enjoyed!!! i always feel like i don't get very far in each chapter ugh how is ~5k words so much to write and yet so little content


	68. caught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku trains with maka and also gets therapy (round 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI POGCHAMPS long and special chapter today...... hope u enjoy :D

The night is quiet and cool when Izuku finds the Takasugi apartment. The moon is out, hanging low over the trees on the horizon. Izuku can see a low haze rising out of the woods just outside the city. The apartment is in a small complex, a set of three, two-story buildings make of red-brown brick. They’re not in the greatest shape, with ivy growing up the sides and around the gutters along the roof. There are a few cars parked in the parking lot, but not as many as Izuku would expect if every apartment in the complex were occupied. It makes dread pool in Izuku’s gut, but he doesn’t let it stop him from walking quietly down the road, down a slight slope into the parking lot of the complex. Izuku can see the parking spot marked with the Takasugi’s apartment number, can see the beat up old car there, a little grey thing that looks like it’s on its last legs. Izuku swallows, ducking into the edges of the forest that surrounds the apartment complex. 

It makes it easy to sneak around to look at the Takasugi’s balcony, the fact that the apartment complex is  _ right _ on the edge of the city, with a thick tangle of woods barely kept back by a chain-link fence wrapping around three of the four sides of the complex. It also makes Izuku uneasy--it would be easy,  _ too _ easy, for a villain or two to lurk in these woods, unseen. Even Izuku, who has far more practice in cities and is wearing  _ red and blue _ , knows that he’s well concealed here. He creeps around to the back of the building and he watches, looking through the glass sliding door. The lights are on inside, which surprises Izuku--it’s past one in the morning, at least. But he can see into the apartment, can see someone that he recognizes as Ayano’s father from the pictures that had been included in the file. The man is clearly working on something, sitting on the floor in front of a low table with papers strewn out across it. 

Izuku can’t make out much else, but he can tell that the apartment isn’t in great shape. It’s clean, from what he can see, but the tile on the floor is cracked in a few places and the light keeps flickering. The apartment is  _ tiny _ , too, and Izuku gets a sinking feeling in his gut just looking at it. He’ll have to do some more digging, maybe call the apartment complex pretending to be interested in renting, but he doesn’t think that it could be more than a one bedroom unit. Izuku thinks that the couch looks slept on, too, but he’s not entirely sure because it’s hard to tell if that’s a pillow and a folded up blanket resting on one end or if it’s just two blankets. Izuku doesn’t like what he’s seeing, either way. 

He’d known to expect something like this, when he went to investigate the two kids. He got their information from a quirk counseling service for low income families, and obviously some of them would be in rough patches, but what makes Izuku’s chest get tight, what makes his stomach burn, is the fact that he doesn’t know if one person is enough for the Gekkeiju to not take Ayano Takasugi. He doesn't know if her father will be enough. Izuku needs more information to complete the mission, needs to get information from Ayano’s school and figure out if she has friends, if her teachers like her, but at least with the other kid, there’d been something that would keep him safe at home. With Ayano, Izuku doesn’t know. He doesn’t know if he’s going to be the one who condemns this kid to the same fate as Mouse.

Izuku sneaks back to UA through the forest and then through the city, but he feels like he’s swimming through an ocean of tar with how heavy his heart is in his chest. 

\--

This time, when Izuku enters the Gekkeiju’s tower, he thinks he knows what to expect. The lobby is clean and open as always, but there’s the soft sound of chatter coming from the television in the side of the room. Izuku glances over to see a head of red hair, but it’s not short and choppy like Fury’s. As he watches, Manami perks up and turns in her seat, craning her neck to see Izuku. 

“Hi!” she says, waving at him. “Long time no see.” She gives him a too-wide smile, and Izuku can just barely make out the hearts in her eyes from this distance. Izuku swallows and waves back.

“H-Hi,” he says, and that seems to be the right thing to do, because she turns back to the television with a hum. Izuku relaxes after a moment passes and she doesn't seem to be about to kill him or anything. He’s still not sure how to read Manami, not sure what to think of her. Out of the three that seem to be just below Sasaki in ranking, she’s the one he’s interacted with the least.  _ If she’s anything like her brother, that’s probably a good thing _ , Izuku muses. 

Izuku walks up to the front desk, where Yamamoto is watching the computer screen as always. She nods at his approach, acknowledging his presence, and Izuku waits patiently for a moment as she types something out with one hand, clicking the mouse a few times.

“Fury’s out today,” Yamamoto says, and Izuku blinks. “You’ll be seeing Leadfoot, instead. Fifth floor, she says she’s by the elevators waiting for you.” Yamamoto doesn’t seem to notice Izuku’s apparent relief at this, doesn’t seem to notice the way tension bleeds out of his shoulders. 

“T-Thanks,” Izuku says, and Yamamoto just gives him a nod. Izuku hurries over to the elevators, his head filled with a confusing mixture of relief at not having to see Fury and apprehension at being so close to the elevator anyway. That, and Izuku doesn’t think he’s been on the fifth floor before. He’s starting to wonder if the whole building is identical offices save for the first and seventh floors. He presses the call button on the elevator with his first knuckle and tries to distract himself from the fact that he’s about to have to go inside the thing.

The elevator doors open, and Izuku steps inside, pressing the button for the fifth floor. He tries to shut his eyes, hoping that that keeps the anxiety from rising in his chest, but it doesn’t help; he can still feel the lurch and jerk as the elevator moves. Izuku settles for twisting his hands together around the strap of the duffel bag he’s brought with him. It seems kind of dumb that he brought it in the first place, now, considering that he probably won’t have to spend the night without Fury here to torture him. He doesn’t think that Miura would do that to him.

The elevator chimes softly, and Izuku steps off of it the second the doors open. He can see Miura on the other side, leaning up against the wall across the room. This floor is definitely different from the ones below it, with the elevators opening into a small room with soft yellow walls and thick, plush carpet. Miura is wearing a pair of thick, heavy-looking jeans covered in oil stains and smears of paint along with a green t-shirt in a similar state. Her hair is pulled back in the low ponytail that she usually wears with her mask and ears, although she’s wearing neither right now. Her left arm is marred with a hand shaped bruise on the bicep, and Izuku can see a series of bruises, small and oval-shaped on her neck and collarbone. It takes Izuku a moment to put together what they are--hickies--and he feels himself flush slightly at the realization.

“Ace,” Miura says, sighing. Izuku swallows, watching as she pushes herself off the wall. “Kazuo’s out, at the moment, so I’ll be taking your report today. I’m assuming that’s not a problem?” Izuku nods as she meets his eyes. There are dark bags under her eyes, and Izuku wonders what happened.

“T-That’s fine,” Izuku says. It’s more than just fine, really, but Izuku isn’t going to tell her what she already knows. Miura gives him a small nod, turning to the door besides her. She turns the knob, opening the door into what looks like a library.

“We can talk in here,” Miura says, walking inside through the open door without waiting for Izuku. Izuku swallows, following her into the room, and he’s strangely relieved to see that there are a number of tables and chairs scattered among the bookshelves, not just two facing each other like there normally is when Izuku meets with Fury.

The room is fairly small, and most of the space in it is taken up by bookshelves laden heavily with books. There are three identical tables, one pushed up against a wall and two in the empty spaces in the room. Each of the tables has two chairs made of the same dark wood, but there are also cream colored armchairs at a few places that Izuku can see. He wonders if the library extends further than he can see, which isn’t far with all of the bookshelves crowding his vision. As Izuku takes a seat in a chair across the table from the one Miura is sitting down in, he glances at the books closest to him. They all appear to be technical books, medical encyclopedias and different manuals and things of that kind. Izuku wonders how long it took to collect this many books; there must be  _ hundreds, _ and that’s just what he can see.

“So, how did your week go?” Miura asks, leaning back slightly in her chair and folding her hands together on her lap. Izuku blinks at her.

“I-I was able to investigate the homes of both of the targets,” Izuku says, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “I haven’t--haven’t been able to check their schools yet, though.” Miura stares at him for a moment, then nods.

“I meant how your week actually went,” she says, with a hint of amusement in her voice. “But that’s certainly a good start,” she says. Izuku nods, hesitantly, but after a moment, Miura sighs, speaking again.

“You need to be careful what you do with that phone,” she says, her gaze moving down and to the side. “I was able to cover for you this time, because the messages had already been deleted by the time Yamamoto saw them, but if it happens again, I’m not going to be able to bribe Yamamoto to keep her mouth shut.” As Miura speaks, Izuku feels a trickle of cold dread run down his spine.

“Y-You can see--can see if I’ve messaged someone?” Izuku asks, his voice quiet. Miura sighs and nods.

“Of course we can,” she says, pressing her lips into a thin line. “Like I said, you need to be more careful. I might not care if you’re doing something behind the scenes, but Kazuo will,” she says. She shifts her hands in her lap. “You’re trying to get Mouse and R--Angel out, aren’t you?” Izuku swallows, nodding.

“I-I am,” he confirms, voice quiet. Miura shuts her eyes for a long moment, then opens them.

“I’d like to do that, too,” she says, her gaze off to the side. “I’ve been responsible for a lot of people dying in this tower, but I don’t...I can’t just let it happen, not anymore,” Miura says, her voice quiet. She turns her gaze back to Izuku. “I’ve already accepted that I’m not going to be able to make it out of this alive, but that doesn’t need to be the case for you.” Her voice is low, serious. “Don’t do anything reckless,” she says.

“W-Why wouldn’t you be able to get out?” Izuku asks. Miura watches him with a carefully blank expression.

“Midoriya, I’ve been in the Gekkeiju for over seven years,” she says, her voice low and flat. “I’m not getting out of this unless I’m dead or in handcuffs, and I’d frankly rather it be the former.” Izuku stares at her, his brows knitting together.

“W-Wait, how old are you?” he asks. “I know you said you and the other two lieutenants helped to found the Gekkeiju, but you can’t have been here for seven years, that’s...” Miura stares back at him.

“I’m turning twenty this December,” she says, quietly. Izuku stares at her.

“You were twelve?” he asks, his voice tiny. Miura nods, her head moving jerkily.

“That’s not important,” she says, pressing her lips together. “What  _ is _ important is that you don’t get caught, not until you and the two we’re trying to protect are safe. So you can’t use the phone we gave you to contact anyone other than Gekkeiju members, understand?” Her voice is firm, but Izuku can see something haunted in her dark eyes. He nods, slowly, and she seems to relax the tiniest bit.

“Good,” Miura says. “I need to tell you about another mission we have for you, but first I should get your report on the two targets you were sent to investigate,” she says, folding her hands in her lap again. Izuku nods.

“Um, Shinsuke Uegaki looks like--like he’d be difficult to take,” Izuku says. “He lives in a big house, with at least three adults there.” Miura nods.

“No information on if he’s ever left home alone?” she asks. Izuku shakes his head.

“I-I don’t know, but it definitely looked like--like someone was awake when I was there, so he’s probably w-watched most of the time,” Izuku says. Miura purses her lips.

“That makes him a more difficult target,” she says. “What about Takasugi?” Izuk swallows.

“Um, she seems to--to live with just her father, but I’m not s-sure about school and stuff,” Izuku says. “They live i-in an apartment at the edge of town,” he says, not wanting to offer more information than the bare minimum. Miura nods, a thoughtful look on her face.

“I can probably get Clean to investigate her school routine, since you have class at that time, right?” Miura asks, and Izuku nods, hesitantly. “If she’s not close with people at school, it’ll be pretty easy to either take her father out or just cover up any reports he makes,” she says, crossing one leg over the other. Izuku feels his stomach turn solid and heavy, like a stone in his gut as he listens to Miura talk about kidnapping a child so casually, like it’s something she does all the time.  _ It probably is _ , Izuku realizes with a sickening feeling.

“W-What happens to her, if she does get captured?” Izuku asks. Miura sighs.

“Well, usually with kids her age we only keep them a month or two unless they’re particularly useful and we can get them to cooperate,” she says, glancing down at the table. “Most of our... assets are at another location, but even then, we don’t keep many of the kids.” Izuku frowns.

“What--what happens to them, after they’re not useful?” Izuku feels his mouth going dry as he asks. Miura stares at him for a moment, a long, painful moment.

“We either sell them, or we dispose of them,” Miura says, her voice flat and without emotion. She stares at Izuku, her dark eyes empty and blank. Izuku suddenly remembers the reputation Aizawa had spoken of for Leadfoot, that she’d killed every witness. Izuku swallows.

“Is that--is it your job?” he asks, his voice quiet. “Are you the one who does that?” Miura stares at him with that same blank expression for a moment, then sighs, her shoulders dropping as she stares at the table.

“Yes,” she says, quietly. “I am.” A moment passes where Izuku can feel the rushing blood in his ears, can feel his heart pounding in his chest before Miura speaks again. “I hope I never have to again,” she says. Izuku nods, shakily.

“I-I hope so too,” he says, and he can’t tell if he’s afraid of Miura or sorry for her. The Miura he knows isn’t someone who would kill children, who would kill everyone who saw her, but he doesn’t know her past. Something doesn’t add up, and it’s making Izuku confused, but he doesn’t even know what to ask to figure out what’s going on with her.

“Your next mission is fairly dangerous,” Miura says, still staring down at the table. “Have you heard anything at all about the Shie Hassaikai?” she asks. Izuku frowns, shaking his head.

“No, I haven’t,” he replies, and Miura nods, not appearing surprised at all.

“They’re an older organization, a yakuza group, but they’re not as active as they were in the pre-quirk era,” she says, shifting her hands in her lap and looking up at Izuku. “It’s not all set in stone yet, but we might be trying to take them down. Their goals are directly in opposition to the boss’s,” she says. Izuku blinks.

“W-What are their goals?” Izuku asks. 

“Ultimately, I think they’re trying to get rid of quirks altogether,” Miura says, and Izuku blinks. “Since our goal is... well, the short version is we’re trying to acquire specific quirks. Since their goal can make ours more difficult, the boss wants us to interfere,” Miura says, with a heavy sigh. “It’s always messy, getting involved with other organizations like this. What you’re supposed to do is try and learn more about the raid that UA is planning.” She eyes him. “I’m guessing you haven’t heard of that, either?”

“N-No,” Izuku replies, his brow furrowing. “How do you guys know about that, if it’s within UA?” he asks, biting his lower lip. Miura blinks.

“Oh, I thought you knew,” she says. “Whatever, it’s fairly obvious. We have a spy at UA,” she says, like it’s nothing. Izuku stares at her. “They can’t participate in the raid, for certain reasons, but they said you likely would be able to if you tried to,” she says, watching him. Izuku swallows.

“D-Does it have to be as Izuku? Or can it be as Ace?” Izuku asks. Miura stares at him for a second, then sighs.

“Ace might work better, actually,” she says. “Your two identities aren’t linked, right? It might help to keep things quiet, but you’d need to be careful that nobody sees under your mask.” She moves her hands, picking at the edge of her shirt sleeve with one arm. “The League wants to work with the Shie Hassaikai, by the way. They’re not exactly in our good graces right now, both because of that and what happened at the summer camp,” she says, mild frustration in her voice. 

“Because you got me instead of N--Monoma?” Izuku asks. Miura glances over to him, her face slightly surprised.

“Well, yeah. We thought you were quirkless, and his quirk would have let us use any subject’s quirk so long as he cooperated,” she says. “The boss thought we’d have a pretty good chance at convincing him, too,” she says. Izuku doesn’t think they would, but he doesn’t say as much. It’s probably best for Neito if they don’t know that Izuku is close with him.

“So the League was supposed to get Kacchan and you guys were supposed to get Monoma?” Izuku asks. Miura nods.

“Yeah, we also helped the League out financially,” she says, her lips twisting into a slight scowl. “I outfitted them with weapons, too. They were supposed to give us something else, but they didn’t keep their end of the deal, and their boss is in prison now, as I’m sure you know,” she says, and Izuku nods. He knows about All for One, knows about his imprisonment.

“So you--you just want me to try to be at the raid?” Izuku asks. “So that I can help it succeed?” Miura nods.

“Don’t reveal your quirk, obviously, but basically,” she says. “A few of our members will be infiltrating the raid itself and helping the heroes out, but since our goals aren’t public, we don’t exactly want it known that we’re participating,” she says. “It’d give the heroes too many clues as to what we want.” Her eyes narrow slightly. “So you’ll need to be careful if you’re leaking that to them.” Izuku swallows, nodding quickly. Something occurs to him, then, and he mulls it over for a moment before speaking.

“So... if I were to break Mouse and Avenging Angel out, that would be a good time to do it? During the raid?” He runs his teeth over his tongue, thinking. “The boss and you three would be busy watching the raid, and some of the members would be out for that, I’m assuming. And if I’m at the raid, then nobody can accuse me of doing it,” he says. Miura looks at him strangely, tipping her head and frowning slightly.

“If you’re at the raid,” she says, slowly. “You can’t also be here to break them out, Midoriya.” She says it like she thinks she might be misunderstanding. 

“But it would be a good time to do that, if I could be in two places at once,” Izuku says. Miura stares at him.

“I guess,” she says. “But you can’t be in two places at once.” She’s studying Izuku. “Can you?” 

“I can’t,” Izuku confirms, a smile creeping up on his face. “I might have a plan, though.” He meets her eyes. “You’d help me? Save Mouse and Angel, I mean.” Miura nods, slowly. She doesn’t return his smile, but it looks like she might be thinking about it. 

“I would,” she says, quietly. “If it came down to it, I would give my life to save her.” Izuku grins.

“Me too,” he says. 

\--

Izuku plops down onto the bed in his dorm room, a breath escaping him as he sinks into the soft mattress. He’s had a lot of time to think, on the train ride home from the tower and at home, where his mom had been happy to see him talkative and upbeat. He’s had a lot of time to move past his optimism, to realize how his plan probably won’t work, how unlikely it is that he’ll be able to make his plan work. Izuku’s had plenty of time to think about how, even if he and Miura are willing to work hard, willing to die, it doesn’t mean that they’re going to succeed. It doesn’t mean that they’re going to get Mouse out, doesn’t mean they’re going to save Angel. It doesn’t mean that either of them will be okay.

It’s routine, now, when he pulls his razor out of his jean pocket and slips it out of the pill case it’s shoved in. He slides up the sleeve of his hoodie, revealing the skin below, milky-pale from being hidden under sleeves for so long. His old marks, from before he moved to just his bicep, are just thin white lines at this point, just above his elbow on his bicep. He grits his teeth, then opens the bottom drawer on his nightstand and pulls out a square of gauze, still in the sterile packaging. He doesn’t want to get blood on the sheets.

He draws the razor across his skin, watches the surface of it split and show an uneven whiteness beneath, like styrofoam hiding under his skin. He bites his lip and watches the cut fill with bright blood, then makes another, pushing himself to go deeper, to see more. He does five, total, before it hits him, before the stinging in his arm starts and he’s washed over with that soft, raw euphoria that he gets from this. He feels clean, tired, empty. He takes a deep breath. He could go for another round. 

“Hey, Midoriya--” He stiffens, back going straight as a board as he hears a familiar low voice on the other side of his door and he prays, prays that he locked his door.

The doorknob clicks, and the door opens. Izuku’s eyes meet Shinsou’s, his violet-grey eyes stretched wide with alarm. He steps inside the room, shutting the door behind him. 

“Midoriya?” He says, voice shaky and soft and he takes a step toward him. Suddenly, Izuku feels cornered. Like he’s in a tiny box, in an elevator with no way out. He’s going to have to kill himself to get out of this, he realizes. He’s going to have to go back. A wave of despair rises in his throat.

“Shinsou, it’s not what--” He stops talking as a kind of dullness fills him, the familiar mental weight of Shinsou’s quirk.  _ Oh.  _ He hadn’t been expecting that.

“Give me the razor,” Shinsou orders, marching forward quickly and snatching the weapon out of Izuku’s hand when it offers it up, moving outside of Izuku’s control. Shinsou’s mouth is set in a thin line, his brows drawn low on his face. He’s wearing pajamas, Izuku notes, a purple t-shirt and grey sweatpants. He sets the razor on the edge of the desk furthest from Izuku.

Shinsou stares at him, at his arm. Izuku can’t look, can’t turn his head, but he can feel the blood starting to run down his skin. Shinsou notices this too, and he grabs the gauze from where it’s resting on Izuku’s bed, tearing the package opening and pressing it to the wounds.  _ He’s not putting enough pressure, _ Izuku thinks.  _ It’ll keep bleeding. _

“Tell me what you were doing,” Shinsou says, and Izuku wants to laugh because  _ isn’t it obvious?  _

“Cutting myself,” Izuku’s mouth replies back obediently. He curses Shinsou’s quirk. He should have known better to reply in a situation like this. As much as Shinsou doesn’t want to use his quirk to hurt people, he won’t hesitate to do it if he thinks he’s  _ helping _ . He kind of hates that Shinsou’s figured his quirk out to the point where he can do this, can ask questions.

“What are--” Shinsou pauses. “Tell me what you’re going to do next.” 

“Kill myself,” Izuku replies, and he watches Shinsou’s eyes widen and his brows jerk up. He stumbles a step back, then leans forward again, putting more pressure on the cuts this time. 

“Fuck,” Shinsou mutters, and Izuku has to agree with the statement. This is not the situation he wanted to be in. He tries to push at the mental constraints, hoping the pressure on his cuts would be enough to break the brainwashing, but it doesn’t work. It would need to be more painful, probably.

Shinsou takes a breath, makes eye contact with Izuku. “Do you have a plan?” he asks. Izuku doesn’t answer; it’s not an order.

Shinsou sighs. “Tell me if you have a plan, and what it is.” 

“I don’t have a specific plan,” Izuku replies, which is true. “I’d probably jump off the roof or slit my wrists, depending on what I thought I could get away with before someone caught me.” Crap. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but apparently his brain considered it an answer to Shinsou’s question. 

Shinsou squeezes his eyes shut for a second, then opens them. “Tell me what you’ll do if I release the mind control right now.”

“Try to talk you into leaving me alone,” Izuku replies. He’s not going to make his classmate  _ watch _ as he offs himself, not on purpose. That would be a level of cruel he isn’t sure he’s ready for.

Shinsou eyes him nervously, then sighs, his quirk dropping away from Izuku and leaving him blinking in his own body, the sensation of being able to move again jarring.

“Midoriya?” Shinsou says his name like it’s a plea.

Izuku considers not answering for a second, but abandons the idea. “Yeah?”

Shinsou doesn’t activate his quirk. “What  _ happened _ ?” His voice cracks, and Izuku feels his own eyes start to well up with tears.

“It’s--” He swallows. “It’s not what it seems like,” he says, and even though it’s the truth he can see the doubt flash in Shinsou’s eyes. 

“Then what is it?” Shinsou asks, almost muttering, and he pulls his phone out of his pocket with his free hand, tapping at the screen. Izuku blinks, then lunges for it.

“Midoriya!” He hisses, pulling back. “What the hell?”

Izuku just clenches his teeth. He doesn’t want Shinsou calling anyone. He swipes for the phone again, and Shinsou lets go of him, jumping back and pressing the phone to his ear.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up...” Shinsou’s shaking, Izuku realizes. He draws his hand back, settling back on the bed. Shinsou shoots him a worried look, then sighs in relief. 

“Sensei, come to Midoriya’s dorm--” He pauses. “Yes, it’s an emergency.” Izuku sees what might be the start of tears forming in the corners of Shinsou’s eyes, but he’s not sure. It could just be the light.

Shinsou draws in a breath. “Uh. I caught Midoriya cutting himself and he told me he was going to commit suicide.” He glances at Izuku’s arm, and Izuku looks down at it himself. It’s stopped bleeding, but it’s probably kind of freaky to look at for Shinsou. He picks up the gauze, pressing it back against the wound. 

“He’s just sitting there,” Shinsou says, worrying at his lower lip. “No, he’s not trying to get away. He tried to stop me from calling you, though.”

He hears the beep of the call ending the exact moment before the door to his room slams open, and Aizawa marches in, slamming it behind him. His teacher is wearing a white t-shirt and black basketball shorts, his hair pulled back in a messy bun, but his face is twisted and he’s at Izuku’s side in an instant. 

He grabs Izuku’s arm, lifting the gauze off of it gently and staring at the cuts underneath. His expression is grim, mixed up shock and fear and concern and something else. Izuku swallows. He needs to get away, soon, before he  _ can’t _ . He doesn’t want this to end up in the permanent timeline.

“Sorry,” he whispers, and he bites down on his own tongue. 

He hears Aizawa make a choking sound and grab Izuku’s jaw, and Izuku tastes salty, iron-y blood, but he realizes with horror that he hadn’t managed to bite all the way through his tongue. He coughs, a mouthful of spit mixed with blood coming out of his mouth and falling onto his lap. The room smells like metal.

“ _ Shit, _ ” Aizawa says, putting one hand on Izuku’s jaw and another on his face, forcing his mouth open. Izuku lets him, knowing full well that all he managed to do was make a nasty cut in his tongue. Fuck.  _ That always worked in the movies. Maybe if I’d been wearing the razor teeth _ . Shinsou looks like he just saw a ghost.

“Midoriya,” Aizawa growls. “Do  _ not _ try that again.” He sounds rough, but Izuku thinks he can hear the fear in his voice. He releases his death grip on Izuku’s face, finally, and Izuku spits out another mouthful of blood. 

“It probably wasn’t going to work even if I got all the way through,” he mutters, voice muffled and cottony from his injury. Aizawa stares at him incredulously. 

“Shinsou,” he says, not turning away from Izuku. “Go get Midnight.” Shinsou nods, and Izuku feels a cold dread fill him.

“No, Aizawa-sensei,” Izuku gasps. “You don’t n-need to get--to get Midnight-sensei, I-I’m fine now.” He watches Shinsou open his door and rush away, the light of the dorm room spilling into the hallway. He’s surprised nobody else is awake, with the noise they’re making.

“You just tried to bite your fucking tongue off,” Aizawa hisses. “You need to be sedated until you’re stable.” 

Izuku knows he’d be right, normally. But Izuku isn’t a normal situation. He realizes, abruptly, that even if he’s on the second floor and not the first, Aizawa doesn’t have his capture weapon with him. Izuku could jump out the glass door to the balcony-- he could get away, and he could kill himself and get it  _ over with already _ . 

Izuku takes a deep breath and makes his voice hitch on purpose, trying to sound like he’s about to cry. He sees Aizawa’s face twist, and that’s when he moves. He jerks himself back, turning in one smooth motion and launches himself at the glass as hard as he can, praying desperately that it’s not shatterproof. He knows he doesn’t have time to open it.

The glass shatters in a brilliant shower of shards as Aizawa shouts, and Izuku feels the slice and rip of the shards of glass at the same time he feels a strong hand wrap around his wrist. He tugs as hard as he can, ignoring the sharp shooting pain as he steps on broken glass with bare feet. He gets to the balcony and heaves himself over the edge, feeling Aizawa’s grip loosening on him slightly. He hopes Aizawa didn’t get hurt when he broke the window. He throws himself off the balcony. 

He hits the ground on his side, and he can hear the tell-tale crack of bones breaking but ignores it. The concrete is icy cold under him, almost soothing as he heaves himself up onto sore legs, blood running down the inside of his sweatpants where glass is embedded in his skin. He starts running, his eyes watering at the glass digging deeper into the soles of his feet. The impact of each step sends lightning hot pain through the arm he landed on, and he notes that that’s the bone that broke, probably. He hears footsteps behind him, probably Aizawa. He knew the hero would jump out after him, but he’d hoped he’d have more time to put some distance between them before this happened.

He swerves into the woods, headed through the familiar terrain and ignoring the branches whipping at his face and slapping his broken arm. He knows where his stash is, even in the darkness and with the pain almost blinding him, even though it’s nothing compared to Hell.  _ How funny that with everything I’ve been through, this might be one of the more painful things _ . The forest is navy-blue with the darkness of the night, and he can barely see the dark green of the trees, but he knows where to run.

He reaches the tree in barely enough time, reaching into the hollow trunk and yanking out his knife with Aizawa’s panicked footsteps drawing closer. He unsheathes the knife and presses it to his throat, the cold metal sharp on his pulse point, and he turns to face Aizawa just as the man bursts through the trees. He’s cut up, badly, with a chunk of glass stuck in his forearm and a cut across his chest that rips his shirt open. His eyes are wide with terror, and Izuku can see the protest on his lips.

Izuku grimaces, then draws the blade across his throat. It takes less than a second for him to bleed out, and the sensation is almost comforting.

\--

When he opens his eyes, he’s on the bed in his room, hand in his jean pocket wrapped around the pillbox he keeps his razor in. He yanks his hand out of the pocket, grips his knees and tries to breathe. His head hurts, and he’s dizzy with adrenaline which is stupid because it’s not like he’s in any danger. He just can’t get the expression on Aizawa’s face out of his head, can’t get the look of horror out of his mind. He shuts his eyes, but he just sees the fear and the guilt on Aizawa’s face as he lunges for Izuku, remembers the sting of the knife as he dug it into his carotid. He’s killed himself in some pretty nasty ways before, but never like _ that _ , never right in front of someone as they desperately tried to save him. Not in front of someone who  _ cares, _ who thinks it’s  _ permanent.  _ People have caught him dying, but they haven’t  _ chased him down _ and then  _ seen him commit _ . 

It’s different than it had been with Nighteye, because he hasn’t seen them as he did it. Izuku thinks that he’d seen them, right before he died, but he hadn’t made the cut with them watching. It’s different. He didn’t have a choice, there. Here, he’d just been cutting himself because he  _ wanted to _ . Because he wanted to do something to soothe himself. Because he was  _ upset. _ And Aizawa, even if he didn’t remember, had to suffer for it. 

“Hey, Midoriya--” Shinsou’s voice, just like last time, interrupts his thoughts, and Izuku jerks his head up, watches as the doorknob clicks and the door swings open. Shinsou takes a step into his dorm room, then blinks. 

“Are you... crying?” Shinsou asks, brows drawing together, and Izuku curses mentally. He hadn’t realized he’d started to tear up, hadn’t noticed the tear tracks running down his face. Some horrible, desperate part of him whispers  _ kill yourself again as punishment for what you just did _ and he sucks in a sharp breath of air, biting his lip. 

Shinsou shuts the door behind him carefully, barely making a sound. He approaches Izuku slowly, with hands raised so Izuku can see them. Izuku wants to say that he’s okay, that nothing is wrong, but he remembers the look on Shinsou’s face when he’d admitted he was going to  _ kill himself _ if Shinsou let him, and he chokes on whatever words had started to make their way up his throat. 

Shinsou tugs nervously at his collar. “Should I get Aizawa-sensei?” he asks, awkward and nervous because of course he doesn’t know how to deal with this. Izuku, distantly, notes that his own breathing is uneven and ragged, harsh in the relative quiet of the dorms. Shinsou is staring at him, uncertainty and worry in his violet eyes. 

Izuku shakes his head. “N-No, I’m--” he sucks in a breath, makes himself hold it for a second. “I-I’m okay, I-I swear.” He looks up at Shinsou and gives him a watery smile, which Shinsou returns with a halfhearted upward tick of the lip. 

“You don’t look okay,” Shinsou says back to him, then sits next to him on the bed, sighs as he plops down. “Do you have panic attacks a lot?”

Izuku wants to say that this isn’t a panic attack, but before he can form the words he realizes that it definitely, definitely is. He can feel his breaths catching in his throat, the wave of regret and terror nestled in his chest. He nods in response to Shinsou’s question, and embarrassingly he sobs, a watery noise that seems to echo in the room. 

“Do you, um,” Shinsou worries at his lip. “Do you take any... medicine for it? Or is there someone I should call?”

Izuku shakes his head again, squeezes his knees where his hands are still gripping them. Shinsou doesn’t say anything else, just sits with Izuku as he catches his breath. Izuku thinks it’s kind of pathetic, honestly. He’d done this to himself, hadn’t he? He’s the one who got caught cutting and then ran away and slit his own throat in front of his  _ teacher _ . This was his fault, so really, he has no reason to be upset.

He chokes out another sob, and he raises a hand to try and cover his mouth. Shinsou puts a hand on his shoulder, gingerly patting him. Izuku just shuts his eyes, trying to make himself breathe a full breath. He can’t, though, as the heavy fear starts to fill his throat and strangle him. He feels his fingers digging into his face.

“I really think I should call sensei,” Shinsou says, quietly like he isn’t talking to Izuku. Izuku goes to shake his head, but the thought of seeing Aizawa, well and whole and not cut by glass or on the verge of tears because Izuku just tried to bite his own tongue off, well.... It’s a nice thought. He doesn’t know why, but his chest aches at the thought of Aizawa comforting him, right now, even though he knows damn well he doesn’t deserve it.

Izuku nods, just the slightest bit, and it seems to be enough for Shinsou, who takes his phone out of the same pocket it was in last time, taps at the screen. It’s different than last time, though, because Izuku doesn’t try to stop him and he’s close enough to hear the conversation from both sides.

“What?” Aizawa says when the line connects, annoyed. Izuku wonders if he’s working on something. 

“Can you come to Midoriya’s dorm?” Shinsou asks.

“Why?” Izuku hears rustling on the other end of the line. “Is this an emergency?”

“I... I’m not sure,” Shinsou says, glancing at Izuku, who at least for the moment is able to breathe somewhat. “Midoriya’s having a panic attack?” He says it like it’s a question.

“I’ll be right there,” Aizawa replies, and the line disconnects with a click. Shinsou drops the phone into his lap and sighs. Izuku can’t help but watch the motion, but he’s starting to feel dizzy from hyperventilating. It’s strange, because he doesn’t know why he’s still breathing so crazy. He feels disconnected from himself, from his body and his emotions. He clenches and unclenches the hand that isn’t covering his mouth, feels a tingle in his fingers like they’re falling asleep. He wonders if he’ll end up knocking himself out. It’d be pretty pathetic, considering all of the worse things he’s been through before.

The door to his dorm opens quickly, then shuts just as fast as Aizawa steps into the room. He’s wearing the same thing as last time, of course, but Izuku sees the way his shirt isn’t cut and his arms aren’t torn up and the way his bun isn’t half fallen out and he chokes on a fresh sob, hot tears running out of his eyes and spilling onto the hand he’s smothering his mouth with. Aizawa’s mouth thins and he’s marching toward Izuku with almost as much urgency as last time. He crouches in front of Izuku and makes eye contact with him. His red-rimmed eyes are familiar and comforting.

“Midoriya,” he says. “Can you hear me?” he asks, and Midoriya nods, a watery sob rising in his throat as he does. 

"I'm going to put my hand on your shoulder. Is that okay?" he asks and Izuku is nodding furiously before he has a chance to think about it. Aizawa places a warm hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. Izuku tries to suck in a breath, but it gets caught somewhere on the way and he just wheezes. His chest feels too tight.

“Midoriya,” Aizawa says, and Izuku refocuses on his teacher. “Can you move your hand off of your mouth for me?”

Izuku is confused for a second before he feels the too-tight grip of his own hand on his face and he nods, unclenching his fingers and pulling them away, dropping his hand to his lap. His face tingles like it’s asleep where his hand was, and Izuku blinks dazedly. He’d forgotten his hand was there at all. He looks up at Aizawa, at the way his face is calm and concerned, the way he meets Izuku’s gaze easily. 

“S-Sensei,” he chokes out, and Aizawa shushes him gently, squeezing his shoulder. Izuku can’t help it when he leans forward into Aizawa’s arms, wrapping himself around his teacher. He doesn’t know why now, of all times, he wants comfort like this, why he wants to be hugged. He should be  _ afraid _ of touch, should be flinching and recoiling. Izuku thinks he should be afraid, but when Aizawa wraps his arms around Izuku’s back, draws Izuku into his chest and holds him close, it makes something warm explode in Izuku’s chest. 

Izuku is vaguely aware of Aizawa murmuring something to him, something soft and soothing as he rubs a gentle hand up and down Izuku’s uninjured arm. Izuku thinks that Aizawa is walking Izuku through a breathing exercise, or trying to at least, but Izuku isn’t sure. He can’t process the words, not for a long moment, and by the time he comes back to himself, Izuku’s breathing has slowed, his heart has calmed down, and Aizawa is just holding him, whispering the same thing over and over again.

“You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay,” Aizawa says, quietly. Izuku swallows back the salty taste in his mouth, and he sucks in air through his nose, making a wet sound as snot sucks back into it.

“I-I’m okay,” Izuku says, and Aizawa pauses for a moment.

“You can hear me,” Aizawa says, and it’s not really a question. “Glad to have you back,” Aizawa says, quietly. Izuku thinks he hears relief in his voice. 

“Y-Yeah, Izuku says. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Aizawa says, quietly. Izuku pulls back, slightly, and he can see Shinsou sitting in the corner, his phone in his hands. Izuku thinks he was probably playing with it while Izuku was panicking. He meets Izuku’s eyes.

“Doing better?” Shinsou asks, and Izuku nods, shaky.

“Y-Yeah,” Izuku says. “A-A little.” It certainly helps that Aizawa still has a warm grip on his shoulders, that both Aizawa and Shinsou have concerned looks on their faces but not deep fear. There’s even a little bit of relief there, Izuku thinks.

“You need to sleep,” Aizawa says, his brow creased slightly. “Tomorrow, you’re seeing Hound Dog for an emergency session,” Izuku opens his mouth to protest, but Aizawa silences him with a look. “No, you  _ will _ .” Aizawa’s gaze softens, slightly. “I’m worried about you, Midoriya.” Izuku swallows.

“O-Okay,” he says, softly. “Can you--can you two stay? Until I fall asleep?” Izuku asks. Aizawa starts to nod, slowly, but it’s Shinsou who responds.

“I can do you one better,” Shinsou says, and when Izuku glances over to him, there's a smile on his face that covers up some of the worry, but not all of it. “Do you want me to use my quirk to help you sleep? I’ve been able to make it so people don’t dream, too, if that’s a problem for you,” Shinsou says. Izuku blinks.

“S-Sure, but I don’t mind dream...ing...” Izuku trails off as his mind goes carefully, softly blank. It feels more gentle than the last time Shinsou used his quirk on him, but Izuku isn’t sure if that’s because it’s actually different or because he remembers it wrong.

“Sleep,” Shinsou says, and the world falls away softly, gently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: self harm (graphic), panic attacks, talk of child abuse/death
> 
> [discord!](https://discord.gg/seuCkscYSY)
> 
> HEY GUYS that last bit with shinsou and aizawa? that was the scene that started blnt. i wrote it and i was gonna just post it as a one shot and explain the background but.... i needed to write more and then it turned into This... i hope you enjoyed!!! I've been DYING for that bit to show up aaaa


	69. what he heard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last time: izuku gets a mission from miura, has a mcfreakout and kills himself in front of aizawa then has a panic attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GAMERS sorry i didn't update yesterday!!! imma be real there was no reason i just needed a day off lol but im back now with a hot hot chapter. i included a little gift in honor of chap 69 :)

Izuku wakes up slowly. The world starts to come into focus in pieces, first with the softness of his sheets under his skin, shifting as he rolls onto his side. He swallows, still half asleep, then opens his eyes to his dorm room, dimly lit with light leaking in under his curtains. Izuku blinks sleep from his eyes, his vision focusing, and he sees Aizawa staring back at him. Aizawa is sitting on the ground, wrapped up in his yellow sleeping bag, but his eyes are open and his face seems to soften slightly as Izuku sits up.

“Sensei?” Izuku asks, his voice hoarse from sleeping. “Have you--have you been here all night?” Izuku pushes the sheets off of his legs, swinging them over the side of his bed as he glances around quickly. He remembers Shinsou had used his quirk on him, but Shinsou isn’t in here, so at the very least he probably got some sleep. 

“Yeah,” Aizawa says, reaching up a hand to cover a yawn. “I slept, though, so don’t look so guilty.” He rubs a hand over his face, then looks at Izuku, blinking a couple of times. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Izuku says, sniffling slightly. “I’m sorry about--about last night,” he says. Aizawa’s eyes narrow slightly at him.

“Don’t apologize for that,” Aizawa says, but it’s more tired sounding than an actual reprimand. “I’d rather have been there to help than for you to go through that alone.” Izuku nods, slowly, breaking eye contact with his teacher.

“R-Right,” he says, quietly. Silence fills the room for a moment, and Izuku watches the light from under his curtains moving slightly, like fluffy clouds are drifting over the sun outside, or like a tree’s leaves are blocking the sun. The light is still dove-grey and pale, so Izuku doesn’t think it can be that late in the day,and when he glances over to his clock and sees  _ 7:23 a.m. _ in red letters, it confirms it. 

“Midoriya,” Aizawa says, and there’s something hesitant about his voice. “Are you... do you still have contact with the Gekkeiju?” Aizawa asks. Izuku feels something crawl up the back of his pine, cold fingers of anxiety working their way through him.  _ He’s suspicious of me being Ace. _ Izuku schools his face into a confused frown, twisting his lips and furrowing his brow.

“I don’t think so?” Izuku says, and it comes out with just the amount of confusion and surprise. “I-I’m pretty sure that I didn’t encounter all of them while they had me captured, so I guess I could be interacting with one of them without noticing,” he says. He’s grateful that the full night’s sleep is making him calm and rested, making it easy to look  _ normal _ , to look like this isn’t making his heart pound in his chest. Aizawa stares at him for a long moment.

“Have you heard of a vigilante who goes by the name of Ace?” Aizawa asks. Izuku blinks, turning his head to the side.  _ Maybe I should have been an actor _ , Izuku thinks to himself.

“I think so, yeah,” Izuku says, squinting like he’s thinking. “He was--he was on the news, right? He saved some kid, I-I think,” Izuku says. He pauses, biting his bottom lip. “His quirk was supposed to be some kind of future sight, if--if I’m remembering right,” he adds. He tries to sound like he would if he’d been asked about any other vigilante, about any other pro that isn’t a big name on the news. Aizawa nods, after a moment’s pause.

“Yeah,” Aizawa says, then sighs, unzipping his sleeping bag. The sound of the zipper cuts through the air, a clean, buzzing sound. “I should get ready for class,” Aizawa says, stepping out of his sleeping bag and standing up. “You’re excused from as many classes as you want to miss today, but you need to have someone with you in the dorms,” Aizawa says as he picks up the sleeping bag and drapes it over his arms. “I’ll walk you to your appointment with Hound Dog, once you’re ready. He wants to see you as soon as possible.” Izuku blinks, swallowing.

“I-I don’t want to miss class,” Izuku says. Aizawa raises an eyebrow at him.

“You can come back when you’re done with Hound Dog, but we both know that you don’t actually  _ need  _ to be in history of heroics,” Aizawa says. Izuku feels his face grow slightly warm.

“I-It’s not that I--that I think I already know it, it’s just--” Izuku starts, but Aizawa holds up a hand to stop him.

“I’ve heard about it from Cementoss already, Midoriya,” Aizawa says. “You haven’t missed a single question, and your essays are exceptional. You’ll survive missing one day of class.” Izuku swallows, nodding even though he’d really like to be in class, just in case they go over something interesting. Izuku can’t help it--he just finds heroics in general to be super cool! 

“I-I guess that’s fine,” Izuku says. “Um, can I--can I get dressed? I’m still wearing my clothes from last night...” he trails off as Aizawa nods. 

“Of course,” he says. “I’ll be waiting outside.” Aizawa turns, walking towards the door, but he pauses as he opens it, looking back over to glance at Izuku over his shoulder, his eyes slightly narrowed. 

“Shinsou was quite worried about you,” Aizawa says. “If you decide to go back to class today, you might want to say something to him.” He steps out of the door, shutting it behind him. Izuku stares at the door before taking a deep breath and getting himself ready for the day to come. 

\--

When Izuku shows up at Nighteye’s agency late one night, wearing his Ace costume, it doesn’t occur to him that Nighteye might not even  _ be _ here at midnight until he pushes on the door and it doesn’t open. It’s a little earlier than he usually sneaks out, mostly because between emergency therapy and all of his teachers treating him like he’d just had a major breakdown and not a fairly ordinary panic attack, he’d been itching to get away from UA. 

Izuku pauses for a moment, trying to look through the glass, but the mirror-tinting on its surface makes it impossible for Izuku to see anything other than an echo of his own face, his goggles reflective and red-orange, the bandages covering his mouth and nose laid evenly on his face. Izuku looks older, somehow, with the black hair and the bandages covering his chubby cheeks and freckles. At the same time, the poofy sleeves and the cropped cut of the jacket almost highlight his age, make his hands look smaller where they come out from the ends of his sleeves. 

Izuku waits a moment, then raises his hand and knocks against the door, his knuckles rapping against the cold glass. He knows that it’s not likely, that the chances of Nighteye being here are slim, but some part of him still isn’t surprised when he hears something click on the other side of the door. Izuku takes a step back, watching as the door opens inward to show Nighteye, wearing the same grey suit he’d been in last time Izuku saw him. He looks tired, bags under his eyes like smears of charcoal. 

Nighteye stares back at him for a moment, his golden eyes narrowed behind his glasses, and then he softens, slightly, stepping back and opening the glass door further so that Izuku can come inside. He doesn’t look like Fury right now, not at all, and Izuku isn’t sure if it’s the black hair or the clear, square glasses instead of tinted ones, if it’s the way Nighteye’s suit is too big on him and everything Fury wears is perfectly tailored, but Izuku’s grateful for it as he slips into the building. It doesn’t stop him from scanning the room, from moving slowly and carefully, but it’s nice to not be panicking.

“Ace, what are you doing here?” Nighteye asks, and his voice is rough, too. “You have my contact information. You could have simply called or texted me.” He turns from the door, walking further into the building until he’s settling down in the chair behind his desk,leaning forward to rest his elbows on the surface of it. Izuku wonders if he’s met someone who sleeps as little as he does. 

“I thought it would be more secure this way,” Izuku says as he slowly, carefully walks closer to Nighteye. The building seems to be mostly empty, with all of the lights except for a set that lights the area by Nighteye’s desk turned off, with the chairs all pushed in and empty. Nighteye sighs from his seat.

“Yes, it is,” he confirms. “What is it?” he asks, reaching up to push his glasses up his nose. For some reason, that movement, a hand reaching for glasses covering golden eyes, makes Izuku flinch slightly, more of a jerk in surprise than anything, but if Nighteye notices, he doesn’t show it. 

“The Gekkeiju gave me--they gave me another mission,” Izuku says, wrapping his gloved fingers around the hem of his sweater, squeezing the fabric there. Nighteye tips his head, slightly.

“And what is it?” Nighteye prompts. Izuku chews on his lower lip for a moment.

“Have you... have you heard of the Shie Hassaikai?” Izuku asks, and he sees Nighteye go stiff, tense. He can see the lines of tension creeping up the man’s shoulders, can see the wariness flash in his gold eyes. 

“A better question is why you know about that,” Nighteye says. Izuku swallows. 

“The-the Gekkeiju wants me to infiltrate the raid, to--to help UA take the Shie Hassaikai down,” Izuku says, and he watches as Nighteye’s eyes widen slightly, his brows furrowing.

“They want you to assist UA?” Nighteye asks. Izuku nods, quickly. It seems that his hunch about Nighteye being involved was at least not  _ totally _ wrong. Either way, it’s not like Izuku could have gone to Aizawa as Ace about this--Ace has no reason to know that Eraserhead is a teacher at UA. It would have been like painting a red flag on his back that says  _ hey, I’m your student! _ and Aizawa’s already suspicious enough of Izuku.

“Y-Yeah,” Izuku says. “The Shie Hasssaikai--their goals are apparently t-the exact opposite to the Gekkeiju’s,” Izuku says, worrying at his lip under the mask. “T-They want to get rid of quirks, and the--the Gekkeiju are collecting certain quirks. I-I don’t know exactly  _ what _ kind they’re looking for, but if the Shie Hassaikai got rid of quirks that--that would be bad for the Gekkeiju,” Izuku explains. Nighteye stares back at him for a moment, his lips pressed into a thin line, and then he nods as he breathes out through his nose, slowly.

“Why are you asking me, specifically, about this?” Nighteye asks. It’s a carefully worded question, and Izuku knows that it’s a dangerous one, too. It helps that Izuku’s on Nighteye’s side for real, that for once the truth is all he has to say.

“I-I knew you worked with UA because of Lemillion,” Izuku says. “I saw him on TV, at the sports festival, remember?” Izuku swallows. “I-I didn’t know for  _ sure _ that you would be involved, but I-I think you’re my only contact who--who might have been involved,” Izuku says, watching nervously as Nighteye’s eyes narrow slightly. 

“And how did the Gekkeiju know that UA was planning a raid in the first place?” Nighteye asks. Izuku stares back at him. He gets, now, why Miura had seem so caught off guard by the question.

“They have a spy,” Izuku says, and Nighteye raises an eyebrow. “A-A spy within UA,” Izuku clarifies, and after a moment’s pause, Nighteye nods shortly.

“We’ve been aware of the presence of a spy within UA for quite some time,” Nighteye says, a sigh in his voice. “It had been up for debate whether the spy was linked to the League of Villains or the Gekkeiju, though,” he says, pushing his glasses up higher on his face. Izuku nods, the movement jerky.

“S-So can I help with the raid?” Izuku asks. Nighteye sighs, shifting slightly in his seat as he watches Izuku. 

“I suspect that that would be a bad decision,” Nighteye says. “As much as you seem determined to assist us in any way possible, giving you access to sensitive information could pose a threat to the mission as a whole.” He sighs, pushing his glasses back up his nose where they’ve started to fall. “Beyond that, I hesitate to send someone your age with no formal training into the scene of a dangerous and potentially fatal mission.” Izuku swallows, something that might be fear and might just be frustration rising in his throat.

“W-With all due respect, it’s going to be a lot worse for me if I  _ can’t _ complete the mission,” Izuku says, and he can’t help the edge in his voice. Nighteye blinks at him for a moment before his eyes narrow.

“What would happen to you, if you failed to complete a mission?” Nighteye asks, carefully. Izuku hates being treated like this, like he’s fragile, because if he can survive being burned and beaten and having every nerve in his body set on fire, he can survive a  _ question _ . He can survive a raid; he can survive anything the Shie Hassaikai could throw at him. 

“I’d be tortured,” Izuku says, because why not? It’s not like he has anything to gain by hiding that, not right this second. If Nighteye lets him go on this mission, it’ll make it worth it. Nighteye stares at him for a moment before sighing, breathing out slowly as he reaches up to massage the bridge of his nose. 

“Right,” Nighteye says, something strained in his voice. “Well, my point about sensitive information still stands. You’ll be allowed to participate in the raid itself, but not any of the more delicate portions of the operation. That should be sufficient for your mission, right?” Nighteye glances up, meeting Izuku’s gaze. Izuku nods quickly. 

“I-It should be,” Izuku answers. 

“Good,” Nighteye says. “I’m sure you’re already aware that your situation practically warrants a rescue mission of its own, yes?” Nighteye asks, his yellow eyes shining in the dim light. Izuku swallows.

“I-I think that’d be--that would be a bad idea, sir,” Izuku says, and Nighteye huffs out a breath, angling his head down to stare at his desk.

“I figured as much,” Nighteye says, before glancing up at Izuku again, looking at him over his glasses. “But don’t think that people aren’t working to get you out of your situation. I don’t believe for a second that this was all your own idea. You’re clearly being manipulated by the Gekkeiju.” His eyes seem to burn a hole in Izuku, and Izuku steps back, swallowing.

“You’ll--you’ll text me the details?” Izuku squeaks out. Nighteye stares at him for another moment before nodding.

“I will,” he says. “I’ll be seeing you again soon, Ace.” Izuku’s already started towards the door, and he just nods in response to Nighteye’s words. He has the sudden, sinking feeling of realizing that someone knows more than they should. 

\--

When Izuku hears the knock on his door, hesitant and soft, he’s honestly surprised it’s taken this long.

“Midoriya?” Shinsou calls, voice quiet. Izuku sets down the book he’s been reading, an assignment from English, and he uncrosses his legs from where he’d been sitting on his bed.

“Coming!” he says, hopping off the bed and walking over to the door, opening it. It’s not locked, not right now, but Izuku’s been more careful about keeping it locked when he hurts himself ever since that incident a few days ago. He doesn’t really want to scar his classmates more than he’s already scarred them, for one thing, and he’s also not super fond of the idea of having another close call like with Aizawa. Izuku opens the door to see Shinsou in his casual clothes, a long sleeved shirt and sweats that are a little big on him. Izuku gives Shinsou a smile, but the other boy grimaces at him.

“Hey,” Izuku says, opening the door wider. “Y-You can come in,” he says, and when he steps into his own room, Shinsou follows him.

“Feeling better?” Shinsou asks, which Izuku knows he already knows the answer to, seeing as Shinsou’s asked him that every day in class and at training since the incident. Izuku nods anyway.

“Yup! I’ve just been working on--on English,” Izuku says, gesturing to the book that’s laying open and face down on his bed. Shinsou scowls. 

“You’re going to damage it like that,” Shinsou grumbles, picking the book up and staring down at it. “Where’s your bookmark?” Izuku blinks.

“Oh, I-I just dogear the pages,” Izuku says, and Shinsou glances up at him, his eyes narrowed. 

“You  _ what _ ,” Shinsou says, lips pressed into a line. “That should be a crime, Midoriya,” he says, taking a few steps over to Izuku’s desk and picking up Izuku’s sticky notes. He tears the top one off, sticking it to the book, and then he shuts the book and sets it down on the desk, next to the block of sticky notes. Izuku watches him as he does.

“I’m sorry if I scared you the other night,” Izuku says, and Shinsou turns his head up, pale violet eyes meeting Izuku’s own. Izuku thinks he looks more tired than he has in a while, and Izuku hates that that’s because of him.

“You didn’t scare me,” Shinsou says, after a moment. “I knew what was happening,” he glances down, at the floor, then back up at Izuku’s face. “You worried me. Not--not scared.” Izuku blinks, slowly.

“Oh,” Izuku says, and he worries at his bottom lip, weighing his words carefully. “I’m sorry I worried you, then. That--that doesn’t happen that often.” Shinsou’s eyes narrow, slightly.

“Sure,” he says, the disbelief clear in his voice. “You’re not doing a work study, right?” Izuku’s caught off guard by the sudden change in topic, especially given that Shinsou’s face hasn’t shifted in the slightest.

“No, I’m--I’m not,” Izuku confirms. Shinsou nods, his gaze moving back to the surface of Izuku’s desk, like he’s scanning it for something. It makes Izuku nervous, even though he’s sure there’s nothing there that Shinsou would find unusual, anyway.

“But you could have,” Shinsou says. “Why didn’t you?” Izuku thinks he gets it, now. Shinsou hadn’t been allowed to do a work study, because he’s behind in classes; Izuku can remember Aizawa mentioning it at training. Izuku clasps his hands together in front of him, twisting his finger together.

“W-Well, um, I have a lot--a lot on my plate right now,” Izuku says. “I don’t--I don’t want my grades to suffer.” Shinsou glances up at him, a violet eyebrow raising.

“So it has nothing to do with the fact that you sneak out every night?” Shinsou asks, casually. Izuku tenses up, every hair standing on end, and he knows as soon as he does that that alone has given him away. Izuku takes in a shaky breath.

“Y-You heard me?” Izuku asks. Shinsou nods, and his face shifts slightly.

“Yeah,” he says. “I stay up pretty late most nights, you know.” Izuku swallows, twisting his hands together more tightly, with more pressure.

“Are you--are you going to tell Aizawa-sensei?” Izuku asks, his heart thudding high in his throat. He has to know, even if he’s giving Shinsou the idea to tell in the first place by bringing it up. Shinsou glances over to him, one eyebrow raising slightly.

“Should I?” Shinsou asks. “I don’t even know what you’re doing when you’re out. You don’t come back injured, not like when you’ve gone home on weekends, and you’re not loud.” Izuku stares at him.

“I-I’m not doing anything dangerous,” Izuku says. “I’m training.” Shinsou’s face doesn’t shift from his blank stare. It reminds Izuku of Aizawa, in more than one way.

“Training that you can’t do during the day?” Shinsou asks. Izuku nods.

“Um, you know how I’m k-kinda good at stealth and stuff?” Izuku shifts as Shinsou nods. “I’ve been--I’ve been sneaking out at night to practice. That’s why I’m so good.” Izuku bites his lower lip, his teeth pressing sharp pinpricks of pain into the skin. Shinsou sighs.

“I figured it was something like that,” he says, shrugging. “I just wanted to know, mostly.” He reaches over on the desk, picking up Izuku’s reading for English. “I haven’t started this yet.” Izuku blinks.

“R-Really?” he asks, his lips twitching into a frown. “It’s--it’s kind of long, you know. You should probably get started.” Shinsou nods, opening the book to the first page. 

Izuku and Shinsou end up spending the better part of the evening studying, and Izuku knows that part of it is Shinsou watching him, trying to figure out more of Izuku’s secrets, but Izuku doesn’t really mind. There’s something nice about just talking about school stuff, for once, and he really did need to study before the upcoming quiz.

\--

Izuku finds the warehouse when he’s on a normal patrol. It’s strange, really, that Izuku had the luck to stumble across something like this, and Izuku wonders, not for the first time, if he has a secret second quirk, one that lets him find villain hideouts.  _ Probably not, _ he muses,  _ or I would have found the Gekkeiju base long before they kidnapped me _ . 

The warehouse is large, tall grey concrete that looks like nobody’s been inside for months. Izuku’s seen it on his patrol before, hundreds of times, and he's even run across the rooftop like this at least a dozen times. Izuku’s moving across the top of the warehouse, near a vent on the ceiling, with a drizzle of rain falling onto the rooftop surrounding him when he hears it.

“This is fucking stupid,” someone says, and it’s a familiar, harsh male voice that it takes Izuku a moment too long to place.  _ Dabi _ , his mind supplies, and the realization freezes his feet to the concrete. Izuku stands there, still mid-step like one more footstep will give him away if him sprinting across the roof a moment before hadn’t. Izuku listens, carefully, as Kurogiri’s voice, calm and even rises from within the building.

“As much as I don’t approve of their methods, they’re providing us with resources that we lost when the Gekkeiju stopped supporting us,” Kurogiri says. Izuku can hear someone snarl in frustration, a raw, frustrated noise that echoes through the vents. 

“Toga and Twice will be the ones to deal with them,” Shigaraki’s voice says, raspy and annoyed. “We’ve been over this already. Twice made a mistake and he’s got to make up for it.” Izuku swallows. That, at least, he understands.  _ When you make a mistake working with villains, you have to pay. _

“Yeah, I don’t really get why we’re arguing about this  _ again _ ,” Spinner (Izuku thinks, anyway) says. “I really just want to eat dinner in peace.”

“If you can even call this dinner,” Dabi snorts. Izuku feels, oddly, like he’s intruding on something personal.

“This is the best we can do with what we have!  _ It’s horrible! _ ” someone, maybe Twice, says quickly, his words rushed like he’s trying to say both things at once. Izuku bites his lip and settles down, crouching down to listen. 

“The only thing that’s going to happen if we work with these fuckers is that they’ll kill Toga, Twice, or Kurogiri,” Dabi says. “And then we’ll be down another member.” Izuku hears a beat of silence.

“Yeah,” Toga says, her voice thick. “But Shigaraki thinks that it’s worth it.”

“Was it worth Compress’s arm? Magne’s life?” Spinner asks, his voice a low murmur. Izuku freezes.  _ They lost a member?  _ He vaguely remembers Magne from the raid on the summer camp, but not really. 

“Shut up,” Shigaraki says. “Shut up and stop complaining.” Izuku swallows. “We’re playing games. Not arguing. We’ve done enough of that.” 

“Fine, but I’m going to whoop your crusty ass,” Spinner says, his voice gruff. 

Izuku listens for a while longer, but all he hears is the sounds of a video game and occasional murmurs that Izuku can’t make out the exact words from. He sits on that rooftop for far too long, thinking about the raid that’s coming and what Izuku is going to have to do.

\--

School feels awkward. There’s something going on with Izuku’s friends, and it’s making him feel anxious every time he’s at lunch, with Iida on one side and Uraraka on the other. Iida is fine--he’s as talkative as always, making comments on what Izuku says and laughing at the jokes that Izuku makes. Uraraka, though, is quiet. She’s been picking at her food for the last few days, and today her, Tsuyu, and Kirishima were absent from morning classes. It wasn’t unusual on its own; the three of them had missed class for their work studies plenty of times before. The thing is, now it’s halfway through lunch, and all three of them are walking into the cafeteria together, shoulders almost touching as they walk, talking to each other quietly with drawn brows and frowns on their lips.

“Iida, look,” Izuku says, quietly. “Uraraka, Tsuyu, and Kirishima are back.” He nods toward them, and Iida turns from where he’d been shoveling his rice into his mouth. His mouth is still full when he turns, his brows furrowing slightly as he swallows. 

“They seem upset,” Iida says, frowning and reaching up to dab at his mouth with a napkin. “I’m worried about what the work studies are doing to them.” Izuku nods, biting at his lower lip.

“I-I’m going to go ask if they’re okay,” Izuku says, standing up and pushing his tray of food forward on the table. “They probably can’t talk about it, if it’s--if it’s from their work studies, but...” Izuku trails off, but Iida nods.

“You want to do what you can to help,” he says. “I’ll text Todoroki, too. He’ll want to know, even if he won’t see it until after his remedial lesson,” Iida murmurs, picking his phone up from where it’s sitting next to his tray on the table. Izuku nods, absently, walking across the cafeteria to the entrance area, where his three friends are standing slightly off to the side, by the large window that faces the stretch of lawn between the building and the UA barrier. It takes them a moment to even notice Izuku’s presence, and it’s Tsuyu who seems to see him first, her head lifting slightly from where it had been angled at the floor. She doesn’t smile.

“Hey, guys,” Izuku says, giving them a slight smile. Kirishima and Uraaka look up, too, and Uraraka gives him a weak smile. Kirishima’s is the only one that’s semi-convincing. “Are you three okay?” he asks, pressing his lips together.

“Um, we’re fine!” Uraraka says, waving her hands. “It’s just, um, we’re trying to get caught up on school stuff, and it’s--it’s stressful,” she says, raising a hand to rub the back of her head. She doesn’t meet Izuku’s eyes, which for her is a telltale sign that she isn’t telling the truth. Izuku what it feels like, to want to be able to tell your friends the truth but not having that option, not being able to risk it all for something that is bigger than just one person.

“It’s okay if--I know you can’t tell me,”Izuku says, moving his eyes over the three of them. “But d-don’t forget that you’ve got people--people looking out for you!” Izuku says, giving them a smile. “Even if you can’t say anything, just--just let me know if there’s anything I can do,” he says. The three of them stare at him, Uraraka’s eyes starting to fill with big, shiny tears. Tsuyu just looks shocked, her mouth open slightly, and Kirishima is staring at him with big eyes. 

“C-Can I have a hug?” Uraraka asks, reaching up to wipe at her eyes. Izuku nods, quickly, and Uraraka is wrapping her arms around him before he has a chance to hug her. She latches onto him, squeezing his middle, and she breathes shakily into his shoulder. Izuku brings his hands up to her back, rubbing the same slow circles that Aizawa had rubbed into his.

“I’m scared I’m gonna mess up,” Uraraka says, quietly. Izuku nods, squeezing her tight to him.

“I know,” he says. “B-But if it means anything, I don’t think you’re going to mess up,” he says, swallowing and looking up, at Tsuyu and Kirishima. Kirishima pauses for a second, looking hesitant, and then he takes a step forward, wrapping his arms around Izuku and Uraraka. Izuku flinches, but just a tiny bit, enough that he can tell himself that they wouldn’t notice. He holds them for a moment, until Kirishima pulls back. When he moves, Uraraka does too, wiping at her face with the backs of her hands. 

“Sorry, Deku,” she says, her face red. “I-I know you have your own stuff to worry about, and I can’t even say what--” Izuku cuts her off.

“Don’t apologize,” he says, firmly. He gets, now, why people are always telling him not to apologize. “I want to help--to help you,” Izuku says, glancing between the three of them. Tsuyu nods, and Kirishima gives him a shaky smile.

“T-Thanks,” Uraraka says, wiping the last of her tears from her cheeks and putting a determined look on her face. “I’m gonna go get lunch now, that should cheer me up!” She puffs out her chest, giving Izuku a thumbs up. Even though her eyes are still red and her voice is wobbly, it makes Izuku smile softly.

“Okay,” he says, nodding. “That’s a good idea.” He looks at Tsuyu and Kirishima, and it’s Tsuyu who nods.

“We’ll go too, ribbit. Thanks, Midoriya,” Tsuyu says, a slight upturn to her lips. Kirishima nods, giving him a smile as they all head towards the lunch line. Izuku watches them for a moment, staring at their backs.  _ I know at least three of the students going on the raid, then.  _

Izuku turns, going to walk back to his table, but he pauses. Over in the corner, leaning against a window with a phone pressed to his ear, is Haruta. Izuku thinks, for a moment, that it’s nothing--that Haruta is just taking a phone call, that he’s not paying attention. And then Haruta glances over at Izuku, and there’s something on his face, something nervous and guarded, and Izuku knows. Haruta heard  _ something _ , some part of that conversation. Izuku stares at him.

_ What do you know? _ Izuku thinks, as loudly as he can. Haruta’s lips thin, and he shakes his head, the movement sharp and controlled. Izuku presses his lips together. He thinks that maybe this is bad, tha maybe this is something that he needs to fix, that he needs to--he cuts off the thought, forcing himself not to think it. Haruta stares at him, then says something into the phone, snapping it shut. He takes two quick strides over to Izuku, his mouth spread in a frown as he stops in front of Izuku, his blue eyes moving up and down Izuku.

“All I heard--all I got was that you know about the raid,” Haruta says, quietly. “I didn’t hear anything else.” Izuku stares at him. His thoughts are moving quickly, vaguely, but he can’t stop himself from thinking that Izuku only knows because of Gekkeiju, that Haruta can’t be part of the raid because he’s not a hero course student, that there’s no way for him to know except there  _ is _ and it’s Haruta’s quirk. Izuku feels so stupid. The only people who knew about the summer camp location were Aizawa, Vlad, Nezu, and the Pussycat Dolls. Izuku knew, he  _ knew _ it couldn’t be any of them, not realistically. 

“I-It’s you,” Izuku says. “It’s you.” Haruta stares back at him, his eyes huge and blue and wet. His pupils are slightly pointy, like a cat’s but just barely, only enough that Izuku can see when he’s this close.

“We can’t--we can’t talk about this here,” Haruta says, swallowing. He doesn’t quite meet Izuku’s eyes, instead staring just below. Izuku wonders if that’s part of how he’s always been, or if Haruta’s felt Fury’s quirk before. Judging by the way Haruta flinches  _ hard _ when Izuku thinks that, it’s the latter.

_ Tonight,  _ Izuku thinks.  _ Tonight, we’ll meet in the wooded part of campus, and you’re going to explain yourself _ , he thinks.  _ I wouldn’t even be in this situation if they hadn’t been at the summer camp. _

“Okay,” Haruta says. “I’ll be there, and--and I’m sorry,” Haruta breathes. Izuku doesn’t want to hear it. He turns and walks away, hating the fact that he knows Haruta can sense every drop of bitter anger and heavy betrayal he feels. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: talk of torture but that's really it
> 
> [discord!](https://discord.gg/seuCkscYSY)
> 
> did yall like that :D 
> 
> thank you as always for da support!!!! im so excited to get to the raid itself, should only be a few more chapters

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Shared Death Loop Trauma? Shared Death Loop Trauma.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29278200) by [Mintoki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mintoki/pseuds/Mintoki)
  * [An Unconventional Way of Obtaining Information](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29465667) by [Spacedolphin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spacedolphin/pseuds/Spacedolphin)
  * [passage](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29599731) by [Mook_aron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mook_aron/pseuds/Mook_aron)
  * [If I Fell (Would You Kill Me?)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29624943) by [Mintoki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mintoki/pseuds/Mintoki)
  * [(lungs on fire)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29672556) by [Elsin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsin/pseuds/Elsin)
  * [When Panic Settles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29836056) by [SpeedingCheetah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpeedingCheetah/pseuds/SpeedingCheetah)
  * [All Fun And Games Until I Actually Die](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29871780) by [SpeedingCheetah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpeedingCheetah/pseuds/SpeedingCheetah)
  * [Temperament And Blisters](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29906184) by [SpeedingCheetah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpeedingCheetah/pseuds/SpeedingCheetah)
  * [Loosely Fitting](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29944359) by [SpeedingCheetah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpeedingCheetah/pseuds/SpeedingCheetah)




End file.
